


Bloodstone

by Shiraume



Category: Prince of Tennis (TV), Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Vampire Hunters, Attempt at Humor, Because I totally cannot write anything without politics, Blood Drinking, Bloodsucking is basically sex, Duh it's a VAMPIRE AU, I Tried, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It's Shitenhouji's Turn to be Heroes, M/M, Politics, Sexual Content, Sorry Not Sorry, These Vampires Do NOT Sparkle TYVM, What Was I Thinking?, this was supposed to be short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:26:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiraume/pseuds/Shiraume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seigaku clan has a new prince in town.</p><p>Hyoutei clan is vaguely irritated, Order of Shitenhouji is mildly concerned, and Order of Rikkai is hell-bent on putting Seigaku in its place.  Preferably as a pile of dust in a grave.  For its part, Order of St. Rudolph would rather err on the side of caution.</p><p>After all, it’s not every day a new pureblood vampire joins a clan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Conceived 5/15/2013 :: Finished 12/31/2013]
> 
> Modern supernatural/vampire/hunter AU. M/R rating for adult content. Drama, romance, and way too much politics and social issues for a vampire/hunter AU. Born May 15, 2013, finished December 31, 2013, the story is at 57K words at this time (subject to revision). Chapter lengths and pace will vary, as the entire work was written undivided.
> 
>  ** _Bloodstone:_** a greenish variety of chalcedony with small bloodlike spots of red jasper scattered through it. Also called _heliotrope_.

[4/14/2014 - Happy Birthday, Shiraishi!]

_**Chapter 1**_

“Hey. Yanagi said you could use some showing around.”

Warm voice, slight accent. Light ash-brown hair, friendly brown eyes. Akaya’s eyes were automatically drawn to the brassard on the other’s right arm: spring green and yellow, with nested diamonds.

Shitenhouji. Finally his memory dredged up a name to go with the face. “Captain Shiraishi of Shitenhouji. Right?”

“Pin-pon.” Bandage-wrapped hand rose to tap his left temple with index finger. “Kirihara-kun from Order of Rikkai, yeah? Yukimura spoke of you often.”

“Yanagi-senpai told you to show me around?” Seriously, did his seniors find him that untrustworthy? He’d only gotten lost twice. Besides, while Sky Dome was impressively tall, rising nearly 300 feet from its base, it was basically a narrow tower with all staircases leading to the top. As long as he kept following the stairs, eventually he would make it to the meeting place. Or so Niou said.

“Yeah. The staircases here get a little tricky. You have to remember which ones go up and which ones circle down.”

“Some of them circle down?” Somehow Niou had neglected to mention that. Akaya would have bet anything that was deliberate. Stupid Niou and his stupid pranks.

Shiraishi chuckled. “Yeah. Let me show you around a bit. Meeting won’t start until mid-day, anyway. ‘Sides, you should walk around. Get used to the place. The view’s pretty spectacular. Once you get used to being a thousand feet up in the air perched right over a deep canyon, anyway.”

“Why did they build it out here in the middle of nowhere? And up so high?”

Shiraishi shrugged. “For security. There’s nothing around here to cast shadows over this building. Makes everything nice and sunny. Traditionally, everyone would arrive at sunrise on a really sunny day, then leave before sunset. ‘Course it’s not that simple anymore, nowadays. Plus it’s tough to get here.”

“No kidding. You need a goddamn chopper to even get out here.” Recalling he was talking to the field commander of Shitenhouji, Akaya winced and tried again. “I mean. I had to ride in on a helicopter.”

Shiraishi laughed. “Hey, don’t worry about it. We don’t stand on much ceremony at Shitenhouji. Anyway, they must love you over at Rikkai. You’re probably the youngest member ever to join the Head Council.”

“But I’m not here to participate in the meeting,” Akaya corrected hastily. “I’m supposed to guard the perimeter and Yukimura-san said just that will be a good learning experience.”

“Nah, Sanada and Yukimura have been planning for this in forever. They’d had their eyes on you way before you finished your training.” Shiraishi rotated his head absently, cricking his neck. “Kintarou’s here, too, but he’s stuck at the base with actual guard duty. You’re here so you can sit in during the meeting.”

Well. If that was the case. “So is it true what they say, about Seigaku—”

Shiraishi cut him off with a raise of a hand, face suddenly stern. “We’re not going to talk about that until the meeting, okay? Even here, it’s not always safe. There’s a reason why the important meetings always take place in the council chamber.”

Much of the Sky Dome’s outer structure incorporated clear substance like glass or crystal. The very top featured a great transparent dome made entirely of glass panels which gave the place its namesake. Inside the dome was a single great hall which served as the official meeting chamber for the Head Council for its most important businesses. The translucent materials worked into the outer walls ensured sunlight streamed through every part of the building, including the winding staircases and hallways, but the council chamber on top was encased solely in clear glass, leaving the whole chamber brilliantly sunlit during daytime. From distance, the entire structure sparkled like a jeweled rod thrust into the sky.

In the morning sunlight, the bright murals decorating the inner walls of the hallway were bleached white. Akaya squinted at one of the paintings, where a figure stood at the center with hair like crimson flame tumbling over white robes. Next to this figure was a white stone, a stream of scarlet spilling like tears over the pale surface. The figure’s face was delicately beautiful, but with perfect androgyny. With the artfully draped robes, it could have been a male or a female.

“Saraphita. The First.” Shiraishi was watching him closely. “You probably learned about the First in class, yeah?”

“Er...” Akaya was pretty sure he did, but like with most of the less practical part of his education, the details escaped him. But then again, book-learning had never been his strength. Throughout the years of his traineeship, his strength always lay in the active field work, specifically combat. “Kind of? I can’t remember off the top of my head, but...”

Shiraishi looked amused, but made no comment about Akaya’s lapse. “According to the legends, Saraphita was the first vampire ever. In the tradition handed down through generations of vampires, it is said that the blood in the stone spoke to Saraphita and thus Saraphita was reborn as a vampire. Ever since, all vampires can trace their lineage to a single source, a single origin, and that is Saraphita.”

“Is that supposed to be a woman?” Akaya squinted at the painting. Flowing long hair suggested femininity, but Saraphita’s body was curiously featureless under the drapes of the white robes.

“Or a man. It depends on the source, really. As the First, perhaps it doesn’t matter, since vampires don’t reproduce the human way.”

“Oh.” The blood flowing from the stone suddenly made sense. It was _the_ Source, the mystical substance that changed Saraphita into the first vampire. Tearing his eyes away from the mural, Akaya forced himself to move on, but had to stop soon after. “And this?”

Shiraishi stopped and turned, studying the panel of mural Akaya was pointing to. Three tall armored figures, each as beautiful as Botticelli’s Graces, stood over the kneeling figure of Saraphita. One drove his spear through Saraphita’s heart, another had arrow loosed into the same spot, and the last raised a sword over her head, about to strike. “Nephilim. The sons and daughters of angels, if we go by the tradition. Our ancestors. Saraphita sired many vampires, and those in turn sired their own offspring, their children. To curb the unchecked explosion of vampire population, the Nephilim fought and destroyed the First after a long and brutal battle, although not without horrific losses. Shortly after, the Nephilim died out. But enough of their descendants had survived, to eventually form the first order of vampire hunters. That was three thousand years ago.”

“But that didn’t get rid of the vampires. Killing the First, I mean.” That part of the tale had always bothered Akaya. All that loss, and for what? “It achieved nothing in the end.”

“Not exactly,” Shiraishi answered with patience. “The purer a vampire’s blood, the stronger he is. Undiluted blood holds great power. By eliminating the First, the entirety of the vampire population was weakened, because ever after the new vampires could only be made from the lesser vampires.”

“We should have just gotten rid of all the rest.”

Shiraishi’s laugh was soundless and short. “We couldn’t have, though. Vampires aren’t that easy to kill.”

“If we never agreed to the pact, if we’d struck hard when they were weak—”

“Kirihara-kun.” Shiraishi’s voice was calm, but brooked no argument, no protest. “While your dedication is admirable, never forget: vampires were humans once.”

Akaya made an impatient sound. “Not after they started feeding on other humans.”

Usually, it was about this time that Sanada lost his patience and sent him scurrying away with a sharp rebuke or a cuff. However, Shiraishi didn’t become angry. His brown eyes remained calm and ageless, and perfectly still. “Nothing is ever so black and white. To many in this world, choice is but a luxury afforded to select few. None of us can claim to have seen the depths of every mind, every soul. It isn’t for us to judge what we do not know.”

The view was strange, to say the least, coming from a commander of a hunter order, especially one as old and well-respected as Shitenhouji. But against the calm certainty it was more difficult to muster defensiveness than had Shiraishi reacted with anger. Akaya frowned but held his peace, remembering that while Shiraishi wasn’t his commander, he nonetheless held seniority. “If you say so.”

Unexpectedly Shiraishi smiled. “Let me finish showing you around. Then you can case the meeting room for later.”

“Yeah, okay.” There it was again: a pull when he expected a push, and a lull when he expected a fight. Enough to throw him off balance, anyway. Akaya couldn’t help stealing curious glances at Shiraishi while they walked together. There were many murals decorating the hallways of the Sky Dome, and Akaya found the vaguely-remembered history of vampires and hunters suddenly make a visceral sort of sense. Perhaps it was the jarring contrast of the murals’ beauty and their graphic depiction of a bloody and brutal history. Shiraishi was ready with explanation whenever he asked, and Akaya found himself absorbed despite himself. He’d never been much for art, but there was a disturbingly moving quality to these murals.

As they walked through the hallway, the murals told the story of how Nephilim died out, and the hunters, diminished in strength, were locked in bitter blood-feud with the vampires hell-bent on avenging their First. Vampires grew in number and strength over centuries, but so did the hunters. The hunters congregated into orders, then to a confederacy of orders commanded by a single Grand Master. The last Grand Master stood stern and commanding on a field strewn with bodies, his sword of triple cross drawn and held aloft. Eventually, the last Grand Master had been slain by the vampires at the conclusion of one of the bloodiest battles between the hunters and the vampires in history. Ever since, the seat of the Grand Master remained empty, the sword with triple cross bereft of a master. More bloody and grueling battles. Then finally, a council of hunters and vampires, presided by a lovely woman with soft brown hair cut just below her ears, with a mysterious smile on her lips.

“Is that...?”

“Fuji Yoshiko, the Last Heir.”

Everyone had heard about her, of course. The last of the Heirs, or the first generation of vampires sired directly by the First. She’d taken the name of Fuji Yoshiko after she took a consort and settled in Japan. She was the last childe Saraphita sired before the Nephilim destroyed hir, and the last Heir remaining after three millennia of continued blood-feud. For so long she had remained hidden in shadows and secrets. Surprise had rippled through the ranks of both vampires and hunters alike when three hundred years ago, the Last Heir openly revealed herself. But her bold move was also a skillful one: the hunters could scarcely dare target the Last Heir without sparking a new and even bloodier chapter of their war than ever before. And her next move, which came not a decade after, caused even more shock. Under her leadership, for the first time since the time of the Black Death, there was a joint council of vampires and hunters. It took over half a century, but Fuji Yoshiko guided the two sides to an uneasy truce. And while she lived the pact of non-aggression held, tenuous though it was, between the two kinds.

The murals stopped there, but Akaya knew – as any hunter out of traineeship knew – what happened next. Fuji Yoshiko would be found murdered – bled to a husk; one of the few ways to kill a vampire, and perhaps the cruelest – along with her consort Yuusuke and her daughter, Yumiko. One of the odd quirks the Last Heir had was that in her long years she sired no children save for three. Over a century after she took a consort in Japan, and a truce established between the vampires and hunters, only then did she sire her three children, who were full-blood siblings in life. By then all other Heirs were destroyed and their second-generation children spent. To vampires, who attached an overweening importance to the purity of vampiric blood, the Last Heir and her children were the closest thing they had to royalty, revered and adored. The Fujis’ murder would have – and by all rights should have – started the final Armageddon between the vampire-kind and the hunters.

“Why didn’t they try to kill us all when Fuji Yoshiko died?” Akaya wondered aloud, and blinked to hear himself. Shiraishi, however, did not look surprised. “Hell, it might have been better. It’d have been an end, one way or another.”

Shiraishi’s eyes took on the stillness and blankness of a mirror, and Akaya shifted self-consciously, wondering if he’d been too free with his opinions, as his seniors in Rikkai always said. Finally, Shiraishi spoke, unsmiling, devoid of emotions. “For one so young, you speak of the end so easily.”

“We would’ve won,” countered Akaya hotly. “Or do you really think the peace could have lasted anyway? Vampires and humans—”

“—Cannot coexist, any more than wolves and sheep can, enclosed together in the same pen of this world.” A hint of weariness touched the brown eyes. Akaya, startled to hear the familiar words in an unfamiliar voice, said nothing. “Go on inside, Kirihara-kun. You should scope the place before everyone arrives.” Akaya blinked, realizing they were indeed at the top of the Sky Dome, in front of the transparent doors of the council chamber. Before he could answer, Shiraishi turned. “Just follow the murals, and you’ll come straight down. If you need help, just call. You have the transceiver, yes?”

“Um. Yes.”

Shiraishi was already rounding the corner when his answer drifted back. “Take your time, then.”

Left behind, Akaya stared after the direction Shiraishi disappeared, feeling like he’d unwittingly stepped on a landmine. With a mental shrug, he dismissed it, and pushed open the crystal doors.


	2. Chapter 2

[5/15/2014 – Happy one-year anniversary, Bloodstone!]

**_Chapter 2_**

“The hunters’ Head Council convened at the Sky Dome earlier today.”

Oishi’s grave announcement was met only with silence. The only sound to be heard was the soft scratch of pen on paper. “Exactly as expected,” Inui remarked, his hand never pausing. “And their topic—just as data predicted, no doubt.”

Tezuka, staring at the oversized fish tank with his back to them, said nothing.

“Not in details, not yet, but yes. We have spies in hunter orders just as hunters have in our clans. They must know that we have another fourth-generation at Seigaku. That puts our clan in a unique position.” Oishi sighed. “So much for secrecy.”

Inui shrugged. “It’s Samurai Nanjirou. When has he ever been known for subtlety?”

“He’d understood the value of discretion before,” Oishi countered. “He may very well be the last third-generation we have left. If he’d kept his consort and son a secret all this time, just as easily he could have kept them secret longer. He’s thrust us in a very awkward position.”

Inui looked up, an eyebrow lifted. “On the contrary. I expect he did all this very deliberately. Now that he made Echizen publicly known as his childe, Seigaku has no choice but to accept him. Ryuuzaki-sensei will demand nothing less.”

Technically, Tezuka was the head of the Seigaku clan. However, Ryuuzaki Sumire, as the oldest vampire in the clan, had long been the mentor and caretaker of the whole clan, and held a near-absolute sway over its members. Despite her usual pragmatism, she was also intensely attached to her clan, and would never have thought twice about accepting Echizen Nanjirou’s son.

“Have you seen him?” Oishi’s question was directed to both Inui and Tezuka. Tezuka said nothing, but Inui shook his head.

“Only Momo has, to date. He reports Echizen Junior is certainly...something.”

“And Momo is rarely wrong,” Oishi concluded, a frown marring his smooth brow.

“If you’re that worried, Oishi, you still have the option of contesting his joining at the presentation,” Inui reminded him. By ancient laws going back to the very first generation of vampires, a newly-made vampire had to be presented to the rest of the clan for approval. Ideally, a childe would only be made with prior consent from the rest of the clan. But either case the new vampire fledgling had to be presented and accepted by the clan in a formal presentation ceremony. If anyone contested a fledgling’s right to join the clan, at least three members of the clan aside from the sire had to speak on the fledgling’s behalf. Once accepted, the fledgling would be given absolute protection by the entire clan until he or she came of age, in vampire-reckoning. No matter what the circumstances, save in self-defense, killing an accepted fledgling was an offense punishable by death. But if a fledgling’s acceptance into the clan was successfully contested, then no protection would be granted, and no one would be held responsible if the fledgling were to be harmed, even murdered. Inui knew the gentle Oishi would not resort to such an extreme method. Luckily for the Echizen fledgling, too; from what Momoshiro said, the youngster had all of his sire’s cockiness _and_ penchant for annoying others, if not more. While greater purity of blood typically granted a vampire greater power, Echizen Ryoma was very young, and it would take decades, if not centuries, before his powers matured. In the meantime, fourth-generation or not, the fledgling was as vulnerable as a lion’s cub living in a den of grown wolves.

Oishi pursed his lips as he frowned. “I couldn’t. Samurai Nanjirou is one of Seigaku clan’s founding members. His childe is one of our own.” He sighed. “It’s just...no other clan holds more than one fourth-generation, fledgling or no. Some hold only fifth-generation or lesser. This is an imbalance of power, as far as others are concerned. Not just hunters, but other clans as well. Why did the Samurai make this childe, anyway? And after all these years, too.”

“According to my sources, because his consort asked.” Inui picked up and flipped open another thick notebook, leafing through the pages. “Echizen Rinko, sire unknown. She had a mortal son she watched over even after she was turned. A few years after her turning, she became Samurai Nanjirou’s consort. She requested that her son be made an immortal. He honored her request. That was four years ago.”

Oishi’s frown deepened. “Even if she didn’t, he must have known the consequences of siring a childe directly. Why didn’t he ask someone else? He has sired so few in his lifetime. Why this one?”

“Perhaps he was special even as mortal.” Inui paused over a page. “The boy was an extraordinarily gifted athlete. A tennis player. While traveling he contracted a disease – unspecified – that nearly killed him. Presumably his mother requested that he be turned because he would have died otherwise.”

Oishi’s frown eased at the last. “That’s understandable, I guess. I still don’t see why Samurai Nanjirou felt the need to turn him personally, mind you. It’s causing us a great deal of trouble, and...” Oishi hesitated, glancing over to Tezuka, who never once so much as turned his head. “There’s the other...unexplained incident that we never could account for. And other clans are clamoring for young Echizen’s relocation. They don’t quite feel...”

Oishi trailed off, and Inui knew what he did not dare say before Tezuka.

Fuji Yoshiko, the Last Heir, and her family, despite having no actual clan ties, had chosen to stay with Seigaku clan after the fragile truce was forged with the hunters. Consequently, the Fuji family had been living under Seigaku protection when she and her family were murdered. Several vampire clans had accused Seigaku of negligence or worse in the aftermath. Grounded in fact or not, a charge of treason might have very easily become a death sentence for the entire clan. To harbor a newly-turned fourth-generation and then fail to protect him might finish their clan this time.

“Anyway, maybe it’ll be better if Echizen stays with Hyoutei clan instead? They do have a lot more members, and I don’t think Atobe would say no.” Oishi’s proposal was sound. 

Inui tapped the notebook to his own shoulder. “Hyoutei can pull more clan members from the UK or Europe, sure. But another fourth-generation within the ranks may not be something Atobe would tolerate easily. Especially if what Momoshiro says is true.”

Their discussion was interrupted by a series of quick raps on the door.

“Come in,” Tezuka called, turning to face the door, and the door opened right away.

“Sorry about the intrusion,” Momoshiro panted, looking like he’d been running. “I just thought – well, you might want to know – damn. Uh.”

Before he could continue, someone else pushed past him unceremoniously, and stood at attention. “Echizen’s gone,” Kaidoh reported shortly.

“Gone?” Oishi echoed. “What do you mean, gone?”

“You two were supposed to be keeping an eye on him.” Inui frowned at both of them. Momoshiro fidgeted, but gave him an uneasy grin. Kaidoh didn’t meet his eyes. “How long?” Inui demanded.

Tezuka had turned and was now looking at them expressionlessly, neither anger nor disapproval on his face, but that only seemed to increase the pair’s discomfort. “Erm...at least an hour,” Momoshiro finally said, cringing a little.

Oishi’s palm met his forehead. “An hour?! And you didn’t even notice?”

Momoshiro had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry, Oishi-senpai. He keeps to himself a lot, so it took us a while to notice he’d snuck out and... Eiji-senpai and Taka-san already went after him. We wanted to let you know before we leave.”

“Go.” Tezuka’s voice was calm but cold. “Find him and bring him back before dawn.”

Momoshiro and Kaidoh both straightened out of sheer spinal reflex, then both bowed crisply and left.

“Well.” Inui couldn’t help an amused drawl. “Perhaps this will spare us the headache, should they fail to retrieve young Echizen before dawn.”

“Inui!” Oishi’s hand dropped from his forehead, which was now drawn together in a frown. “Echizen’s only a fledgling! How can you say something like that? Even if he’s not formally a part of our clan yet, his sire is! And Ryuuzaki-sensei will be furious to hear about this!”

Inui’s smile was blatantly baiting now. “Oh, knowing her, I think she might be more amused than anything else.” Inui knew it wasn’t particularly nice to tease his friend like this, but sometimes he really couldn’t help himself. Oishi never changed no matter how many years went by.

Oishi shook his head. “Come help me work out a grid. Maybe we can figure out the likeliest places and forward the info to Eiji.”

With a short respectful nod to Tezuka, which Tezuka returned, Oishi left, trusting Inui to follow. Left behind, Inui studied Tezuka, whose expressionless face revealed nothing.

“Okinawa’s Higa clan and Nagoya’s Seitoku clan won’t just sit by this time, you know. While you have Fudomine clan’s support, that’s only one. You might want to visit Atobe in the near future. Even if Hyoutei clan isn’t willing to take on Echizen, we should at least cement their support.”

“Ah.”

Still no change. Inui contented himself planning for the next time, and withdrew. Maybe he could tag along when Tezuka visited Atobe. Visits to Atobe always proved interesting.

~*~*~*~

Nightclub was loud, full of people who couldn’t dance to save their lives, and reeked of cheap booze, sweat, and God only knew what else. Ryoma scowled, stubbornly keeping his hands away from his sensitive ears, but it was such a temptation, to cover them. Better yet, he could just get out, of course, but it would mean admitting defeat. Or something. Never mind he hadn’t needed to hunt for his own food since, well, ever. His mother and annoying old man always took care of that before. Still, there was first time for everything. Or so the dirty old man said.

Ryoma wasn’t even sure what made him come to a nightclub of all things. Leftover rebellion, perhaps. For the four years he’d spent with his mother and Nanjirou, he’d been forbidden to come near one because – and here was the part that made him snort – he was underage. Which was stupid, of course. Just because he’d been underage when he was turned, it didn’t mean – well, physically it was true he still remained the same age as when he was first turned. But he’d already spent four years as a vampire. He’d have been twenty this year if he’d still been alive. Shouldn’t that count?

To add insult to an injury, he’d been carded at the entrance by the bouncer. Good thing his perfectly fake ID was still valid.

Resisting the urge to put his hands over his aching ears, Ryoma scanned the crowd. At this point he just wanted to feed a little and go home. Being at Seigaku’s mansion made him claustrophobic and oddly unsettled, and he was relishing the precious few hours of freedom. But being in such an obnoxiously loud place made him wince. Sometimes a vampire’s heightened senses really sucked.

“HEY! ARE YOU GOING TO DANCE OR WHAT?”

Ryoma glared in the general direction of the loudmouthed idiot. As if he needed more noise here. And then he had to blink. Again.

The leopard print didn’t disappear. Ryoma barely refrained from groaning. Was this kid for real? The boy – because Ryoma didn’t know how the hell he got past the bouncer, but there was no way this one even had the word teen in his age, let alone be legal – was wearing awful leopard print tank top that clashed horribly with his red hair, and baggy shorts. Who even wore baggy shorts to a nightclub?

“Go away,” Ryoma told him when the glare didn’t seem to do the trick.

“IS THIS YOUR FIRST TIME? COME ON, DANCE ALREADY.”

Ryoma’s eyebrow twitched. Was this supposed to be a come-on? Or was the kid really that oblivious? “Go away,” he repeated. Honestly, he should be commended for his amazing patience tonight.

“WHAT?”

Ryoma scowled, then grabbed a napkin and scribbled on it very quickly, then shoved it in the boy’s face.

_Go away. You’re loud._

The boy, unfortunately for Ryoma, was completely unfazed. “OH COME ON, YOU SHOULD LEARN TO HAVE FUN!” The boy then grabbed the glass of water Ryoma had been nursing and drained it in one big gulp. “BLEARGH. WATER AT A NIGHTCLUB? HOW OLD ARE YOU?”

Ryoma had a hand over the boy’s mouth before he could think better of it. The boy blinked, and Ryoma cursed under his breath; out of reflex he’d moved faster than human eyes. While the boy didn’t seem like the most perceptive type, the unnatural coolness of his skin might still give him away.

Ryoma leaned forward and spoke just loudly enough to be heard. “Stop shouting. You’re loud.” He leaned back, taking his hand away quickly, hoping the contact was too brief for the redhead to notice anything amiss.

The boy blinked, then grinned. “Oh. Sorry. Hey, what’s your name? Mine’s Kintarou. Tooyama Kintarou.”

More like Tarzan, what with the loud leopard print and all. Ignoring was not working, nor was being blunt. Perhaps he should consider a retreat, but he was here first, damn it, and Ryoma was determined to get himself fed before returning to Seigaku mansion. Besides which, there was something odd about this Tarzan boy. Something cold, brushing against his senses like water lapping at his heels.

“Hey! I said, what’s your name?”

“Yamada Tarou,” Ryoma muttered, deeply annoyed.

“Really? That’s a stupid name. What kind of parents name their kid that?”

With a sigh, Ryoma gave it up as a lost cause and pulled out his wallet to leave tip. Although his mother assured him several times tips weren’t necessary here, he’d done it for so long, the habit was automatic.

“Koshi...mae? Your name’s Koshimae?”

Ryoma frowned, and belatedly remembered his mother had embroidered the Kanji characters for “Echizen” on his wallet in chunky block print. If he’d been the type to blush, his face would have been scarlet by now. Before the idiot could take another look and figure out the correct reading, he snatched away the wallet and stood.

“Hey Koshimae, stay and dance! You should man up and—”

“Kintarou!”

The second it took for Tooyama to look in the direction of the voice, Ryoma slipped out of sight, disappearing easily into the crowd, then making a beeline to the door. Even in the hubbub of the club he could easily pick out Tooyama’s high-pitched voice, protesting.

“—And I gotta de-stress somehow! Besides you never gave Zaizen any grief about coming out to clubs and this is totally not fair!!”

“For one, Zaizen was _seventeen_ when he first went to a club _and_ he went with an actual adult. Do I have to ground you or are you coming back right now?”

A horrified yelp. “ _Not_ the poison hand!”

Ryoma snickered, but left without looking back, stepping into the cool night air with an appreciative sigh. The oddly unsettled feeling had diminished once he put some distance between himself and Tooyama, but it wasn’t gone. And there was still that prickle running down his spine, as if he were being watched, somehow...

“You should be more mindful of your surroundings, Koshimae-san,” said an amused voice with a distinct Kansai accent. “Or should I say Echizen-kun?”

Ryoma whirled, startled. He narrowed his eyes at the speaker, then had to adjust his glare upward. Way up. By the time his eyes reached the speaker’s face, the angle turned his glare more to an annoyed scowl. “And you are?”

“And a little prudence from you wouldn’t hurt, either. So _you’re_ Seigaku’s new prince.”

Just then Ryoma realized what was bothering him about this intruder. “You’re a vampire,” he said flatly. And judging by the pull he felt, someone with a high pedigree of blood.

“Mm-hmm. Like I said, you ought to be a little more mindful. Other vampires aren’t the only problems, especially around here.”

One could have mistaken this vampire for a telephone pole, and as if that wasn’t enough, he was wearing a pair of geta (seriously, who even wore those anymore? He was running into a lot of weird characters tonight) that made him even taller. Ryoma could feel the beginnings of a crick in his neck staring up at this tall busybody and was in no mood for a lecture. “Your point being?”

“I hear you’re a fourth-gen.” Remarked the telephone pole casually, bending down so they were on the same eye level. “But you feel...different.” A strange expression crossed his eyes, then was gone. Straightening, he grinned at Ryoma. “You should watch where you step. ‘Sides, isn’t it getting close to your bedtime, little prince?”

“OCHIBIIIIIIIIII!!!”

For about the thousandth time in the same night, Ryoma winced. Kikumaru wasn’t within sight just yet, but the voice was unmistakable.

“Saves me the trouble of having to find you an escort,” the tall vampire said dryly. “Get home safely. No doubt I’ll catch you again later.”

“OCHIBIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!” Ryoma turned his scowl in the direction of the call for a split second, then blinked, startled to find himself alone in the darkened street. He’d never even seen the other vampire move. The next moment, Kikumaru slammed into him, arms tight enough to choke the breath out of him, if he had any. “What were you thinking?? We were so worried about you, Ochibi! And you should have let us know if you wanted to go clubbing, this really isn’t a good one and I know all the best ones around here and then some! And then I could have taken you to a karaoke place and—”

“Kikumaru-senpai. Let go.”

Momoshiro was next to arrive, followed by Kaidoh and Kawamura.

“Echizen! There you are. We were so worried about you.” Kawamura said with a relieved smile. Momoshiro, for his part, was much less ceremonious, and caught Ryoma in a headlock as soon as Kikumaru let go.

“Why you little— Do you have any idea how worried we were when we found you gone? Why didn’t you say something? We could have arranged for someone to show you around.”

Ryoma shoved at Momoshiro, without much hope of displacing him. “I’m not a little brat.”

“Echizen, it’s not really safe. Tokyo isn’t...well, there are a lot of things we didn’t really get to tell you, and I don’t think Nanjirou-san or Rinko-san ever...” Kawamura looked around them nervously. “Why don’t we go home and then we can talk about it?”

“Oh yeah, Tezuka’s gonna be soooooo mad at you. He might make you run laps around the mansion grounds!” Kikumaru chortled, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Or make you clean the bathrooms. Or the windows! Or – or – weed the garden!”

“And you’re gonna be what, timing me?” Ryoma retorted, finally released from Momoshiro’s headlock. That kind of hurt, actually, and his hair was probably a lost cause. It was times like this he regretted leaving his cap behind. Still, he obediently fell in step with the others, still grumbling about Momoshiro and his ridiculous strength.

“You betcha! I even have a stopwatch and everything! Or at least Oishi does, I can borrow it for a night. Ooooh, this is gonna be fuuuuun~”

“Yeah, because for once you’re not the one in trouble, Eiji-senpai.” Momoshiro ducked, laughing as Kikumaru swiped at him. Ryoma rolled his eyes, but didn’t shrug it off when Momoshiro threw a companionable arm around him. He didn’t exactly enjoy all this physical contact thing they had going at Seigaku, but it wasn’t worth fighting all of them. That was all. Honest.

Besides, maybe Tezuka would actually show an expression if he bothered to get angry about this. Which Ryoma rather doubted; he’d heard stories about just how often Kikumaru, Momoshiro, and Kaidoh (usually dragged out by the other two) snuck out to go clubbing or just wreak merry havoc around the city. Apparently Tezuka just shrugged and assigned them laps around the mansion grounds or something. Ryoma tried to picture Tezuka as a mortal child he must once had been, and failed. All he could conjure up was an image of a toddler with the adult Tezuka’s completely deadpan face, and that was plain disturbing.

Ryoma shook his head and walked faster. Behind him, Ryoma could hear Momoshiro and Kaidoh arguing, something about the frequency of punishment assignments, which he tuned out. Kikumaru was still talking loudly to no one in particular, listing all the great hangout spots in no particular order. Kawamura still occasionally looked around, making sure they weren’t being followed. Oddly, Ryoma was pretty sure they wouldn’t be, tonight. Still...

_You should watch where you step._

His foot slipped the next moment. Even without a vampire’s preternatural grace he would never have stumbled, not with his inborn coordination. But his momentary distraction hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Echizen?” Momoshiro called.

“Slipped on a pebble,” he replied absently. “I’m tired.”

“And hungry, I bet.” Kawamura gave him a friendly smile. “I’ll call to arrange for something.”

Part of him wanted to protest that he wasn’t a child, he could take care of himself. But his stomach grumbled, and the words died in his throat. “Thanks,” he mumbled instead.

“Alright! Let’s go back already! I still gotta kick Momo’s ass in _Mario Kart 7!_ ”

“Wanna bet, Eiji-senpai?”

“You’re on, junior!”

Ryoma shook his head at the amazing display of childishness, but couldn’t help the tug at the corner of his mouth. Earlier moment of unease forgotten, he followed the others home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I tried my best to put this up in July. That...didn't work out too well. But I'm going to do my darnedest to make sure there WILL be another update this month. Also, tags were added with pairings and warnings. Kind of.
> 
> Here is the Chapter 3, wherein plot thickens. :D

[8/02/2014 Version]

**_Chapter 3_ **

Inui had been looking forward to see Echizen Ryoma’s reaction to the extravagant opulence of the Hyoutei mansion, affectionately nicknamed Atobekingham. For his part, Inui quite liked visiting the Hyoutei mansion. Each time, there was some new feature added to the existing grandeur. By his calculation, at the current rate Atobe should be getting calls for building code violation sometime within the next quarter. The grand glass conservatory alone was as large enough to contain two houses and could not possibly meet earthquake safety regulations. The structure was made entirely of thick glass panes set into metal frames, and contained nothing but a handful of tea tables and a grand piano surrounded by countless roses, lit with enough light to cast the illusion of the day even at night.

As they were escorted through the mansion, Echizen cast an unimpressed look over the gilded bas relief lion-heads adorning the marble hallway and the long main gallery with one side made entirely of mirrors. And the drawing room, swathed with enough velvet and damasks to drown a hundred women in silk. Inui waited patiently.

Echizen did not disappoint. “What a bad taste.”

Atobe – there was no other way to describe it – _twitched_. “Those time pieces were imported directly from France, you cretin.”

Echizen barely spared a sideways glance at the said clocks. “Those too, now that you mention them. How do you even read the time with all those stones blinding you?”

Young Hiyoshi’s mouth had dropped open, and did not show signs of closing anytime soon. Oshitari, however, was openly chuckling, and did not stop even after Atobe speared him with a sharp look. Kabaji did not so much as blink, staying behind Atobe like a silent colossal shadow. As usual, Akutagawa was napping on an ornate méridienne and never woke throughout the exchange. It was probably a good thing that the rest of the regulars that made up Atobe’s inner circle were missing, Inui decided, although their reactions might have been entertaining.

“Atobe,” Tezuka called, forestalling Atobe’s diatribe, because Tezuka was a spoilsport. Atobe huffed and pointedly turned his back on Echizen, leading Tezuka away for a private discussion. Unfortunately for Atobe, Echizen missed the gesture entirely, his attention wholly absorbed by a display case with tennis rackets inside.

“Atobe has professional-level indoor tennis courts, if you’re interested,” Inui remarked without turning his head. As he predicted, Echizen’s head came up, eyes bright with interest.

“What, do you play, too?” Hiyoshi, who seemed to have recovered. As Atobe’s protégé, Hiyoshi had learned to play tennis and was a fine player, on par with professional players.

Echizen graced him with a careless look of assessment. “Why? You any good?”

Inui had to cover his mouth with his notebook and stifle a laugh. Oshitari guffawed while Hiyoshi sputtered. Echizen’s deceptively lazy glance and Inui’s data said Hiyoshi was in for a surprise once they got down to the courts.

Oh yes. Inui so loved visiting Hyoutei.

~*~*~*~

“So that’s Samurai Nanjirou’s famed childe.” Atobe gestured for Tezuka to sit, and took the couch opposite from him, picking up the half-full glass of wine from the coffee table. “Doesn’t look like much. I wonder why the third-gen felt it necessary to turn the boy himself?” Tezuka did not so much as shrug, even as two women, one blonde and one auburn-haired, rose from their perch on the windowsill to come to stand next to Atobe’s couch. “You caught me before supper,” Atobe said in the way of explanation, and Tezuka merely gave him the barest hint of a nod, politely averting his gaze while the blonde woman came to lean over him. Atobe tilted the woman’s head to the side, mouth closing over her slender throat in a practiced motion.

It only took a few minutes before Atobe pulled away from the woman, fingers pressed into the twin puncture marks that still bled a little bit. “Shall I get you a provider?” Atobe asked, stroking over the woman’s neck lightly. This provider was exceptionally beautiful, if he had no company present, he might have lain with her as well. His providers were chosen with utmost care, and supplied in full bloom of health and beauty. They were well paid, of course, and ambition guaranteed the loyalty of even those for whom money alone wasn’t enough. Hyoutei had enough political ties to lobby for just about anything Atobe wanted, and Atobe himself was established as a powerful figure in financial and political world. But most of all, Atobe enjoyed beautiful and cultured women the way he enjoyed other finer things in life: with appreciation and respect. The arrangement thus remained mutually beneficial to his providers and Atobe alike. The auburn-haired provider leaned closer, not brazenly but with decorum and grace, in wordless inquiry whether she was needed.

“No.”

Atobe leaned back on the couch and kissed the blonde woman as if he were drinking fine wine. “Why deny yourself? To not live life as fully as you can is but a folly of pride.” He slanted a look at Tezuka, stroking the blonde provider’s nape. “Don’t tell me you’re still pining away for that lost princeling of yours. It’s already been what, a hundred years?”

There was no change in Tezuka’s expression whatsoever.

Atobe sighed, swirling his wineglass. At his nod, the two providers rose gracefully and left, closing the door behind them.

“Stay the night,” Atobe suggested. “I’ll have rooms prepared for you and your clan members.”

Tezuka shook his head. “Echizen and Inui will stay. I must return before sunrise.”

“You’ve never spent a night away from home since that time.” Atobe’s observation was met with no objection or agreement, and he huffed in impatience. “You do know I can’t take in the Echizen brat. A fourth-generation or not, the brat is but a fledgling. It will be years before he comes into his own, but...” He took a delicate sip of his wine. “My clan cannot afford divided loyalties. And with over two hundred clan members in existence, that is exactly what I will have on my hand if Echizen joins Hyoutei.”

“But you will support Echizen’s acceptance into Seigaku?”

Atobe let out an impatient sound. “Who else will take him? Fudomine? They haven’t the number, or the strength to repel an attack if called to. Higa and Nagoya’s Seitoku might clamor, but neither will risk taking him, not when the purest bloods they have fall below that of Echizen’s. It would uproot their existing hierarchy.” Atobe swirled what was left in his wineglass, then drained it in one swallow. “Hyoutei will supply reinforcement if you ask. But there is no one else, Tezuka. And Echizen’s sire is from your clan. You will have to take him.”

Tezuka nodded, but Atobe suspected it signified understanding, not acquiescence. Actually, Tezuka probably never harbored serious expectation that Atobe would take in the Echizen brat. So the trip out to Hyoutei mansion was largely diplomatic, to reaffirm Hyoutei’s support, nothing more.

A mix of exasperation and admiration was par for the course when it came to Tezuka, and Atobe didn’t even bother with an annoyed look in Tezuka’s direction. They’d known each other too long for that. “A phone call would have sufficed, you know.”

“For you – perhaps.”

Atobe frowned, pouring himself another glass of wine. “But not for...” _Echizen_ , he realized as he spoke. “Is he that special?”

“What do _you_ think?”

Tezuka’s eyes were sharp, full intensity of his focus on Atobe. When the full force of Tezuka’s attention on him, it was difficult not to respond with a competitive spark of his own. Instead of matching steel for steel, Atobe turned his thoughts to the boy in question, trying to see just what it was that Tezuka saw. “He’s supposed to be a fourth-generation, as you and I are.”

Tezuka gave a short nod. This time, the ensuing silence was a waiting one.

“But there is something off about him. Something too...undiluted. Raw,” Atobe finished.

Tezuka gave him a tiny nod. “I can’t be sure,” he conceded, “but he doesn’t _feel_ like a fourth-generation. And you and I have both met our share of them over the centuries.”

Of course, the only one who could tell for sure was the boy’s sire – if it was indeed Nanjirou who sired Echizen Ryoma. Or a vampire whose blood was purer than Echizen’s. But only a handful of fourth-generations were left, and Samurai Nanjirou was very likely the last third-generation remaining. And to Atobe’s knowledge, currently there was only one other fourth-generation in Japan. “Take him to see Tachibana, then. See if he senses anything.”

“My thought exactly, as well. I’ll need time to arrange for it.” There was a fleeting hint of humor in Tezuka’s eyes. “I take it you’ll be able to keep him occupied for a few days?”

Babysitting the Echizen brat definitely wasn’t what he had in mind. Atobe thought about pointing that out, but thought better of it.

If he recalled correctly, Echizen Ryoma had been a tennis player as a mortal.

“You _will_ pay for anything he breaks,” Atobe countered. “And I reserve the right to stake him out on my lawn for the sun.”

The hint of humor briefly touched the corners of Tezuka’s mouth this time. “Don’t try to solve too many problems at once.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dawn was only a couple hours away, and if Tezuka still planned to return to Seigaku before sunrise, he should get a head start. “Get lost. You should go now if you want to make it home this side of the sun.”

“Ah.” Tezuka rose with an effortless grace, no movement wasted. Atobe briefly wondered if he should say more. He was one of the few still in existence who had known Tezuka for so long. While Tezuka was never the most expressive person, there was a sense of sequestration ever since the death of Fuji Yoshiko and her family. At first Atobe assumed it was guilt, or perhaps loss. Despite his deliberately cruel words before, he knew whatever Tezuka felt for the elder Fuji son must have been no mere trifle. But mourning Atobe would have understood. What Tezuka seemed to go through, was still going through, as far as he could tell, was nothing like that. No, it was something else that held Tezuka so closed off, so frozen. Damned if Atobe could tell what it was, but Tezuka was one of the few for whom Atobe harbored genuine attachment. If nothing else, as someone who’d shared the burden of long centuries with him.

The hunters had gathered to whisper in the cover of daylight, or so his sources said. He didn’t even have to check to know what Higa and Seitoku must be thinking. All this, Tezuka must know and more. Yet Tezuka had decided to accept Echizen Ryoma into the Seigaku clan even before he came to visit Atobe.

“Watch your back,” Atobe warned, voice so low that human ears wouldn’t have picked out the words. A hand already on the doorknob, Tezuka turned back to look at him. “I’ll have my providers drive you back,” Atobe said, loud enough to be heard easily.

Tezuka held his eyes for a moment longer before nodding. “Thank you.”

After Tezuka left, Atobe suddenly found he had little appetite for the expensive wine he’d opened earlier, and left his glass and the rest of the bottle unfinished. He’d promised Tezuka his support, should there be a need. He was taking care of the young Echizen for a few days (and wouldn’t he enjoy teaching the brat some humility, especially on the tennis court). His warning had been given. Why, then, did the sense of dissatisfaction linger? As if he was missing something very obvious, but important.

Shaking his head, Atobe made his way to the piano in the center of the room. He knew better than to force his insight at times like this. Instead, he would let his thoughts drift, coax the tangles to unravel on their own. And for that, there were few methods better than losing himself in music.

Resting his fingers on the ivory keys, Atobe began to play.

~*~*~*~

The sky was beginning to turn from inky to indigo streaked in lavender when Tezuka returned to the Seigaku mansion. Oishi and Eiji had retired together, which told him it was a good idea not to seek them out this night. Kawamura, Momoshiro, and Kaidoh had all fed and retired as well. The rest of the mansion was silent and still.

Seigaku’s clan members had windowless rooms on first floor for maximum comfort and easy evacuation. Tezuka had several rooms adjacent to each other, serving as his office, library, sitting room, and bedroom. Once inside his bedroom, Tezuka locked the door securely and rechecked his heavy curtains and blinds. After finishing the perimeter check, he approached the gilded birdcage in one corner of the room, which held three white doves inside. When he opened the cage door and stuck his hand inside, one of them readily fluttered to his hand. Gently, so as to not dislodge the bird, Tezuka withdrew his hand and closed the cage door.

With the white dove in his hand, Tezuka made his way to the fixed bookshelf sunk into the wall that nearly took up one entire side of the room. In the far left section, Tezuka reached for a nondescript hardcover volume on the top shelf and pulled the book halfway out of its place. Soundlessly the bookshelf slid to the right inside the wall, just enough to reveal a short corridor leading to a reinforced steel door. A touch of a button sent the bookshelf back into its usual place, masking the hidden door from the view. Then, Tezuka went to the steel door and typed a passcode in the keypad next to it. The door opened with a click, revealing a dimly-lit passage. 

While there were several such secret passages in the mansion, this was the only one nobody but Tezuka knew about. He’s made certain of that over the years, no matter what the cost. And this passage led further down and deeper into the ground than any of the basement levels known to other senior members of the clan. Tezuka followed a series of long staircases until at last it merged to a narrow corridor, and then to a small hall, where there was a reinforced, high-security door one might find in a bank’s safety vault. Tezuka stopped at the door and punched in the password in the keypad, then laid his free hand on the biometric scanner.

The strip of red light turned green, signaling the vault door lock was disengaged. A second later the door opened with a soft hiss.

Within was a dark cavernous room, the light from the hallway the only illumination. Leaving the door open, Tezuka walked to the center of the cavernous chamber, where a circle of smooth black stone gleamed like a dark mirror on the floor. Ancient runes were etched all around the edge of the circle, glittering gold against ebony. Inside the circle, there was a slender figure of a young man.

Pale skin gleamed almost translucently white in the darkness of the chamber. Heavy chains were sunk deep into the stone underneath, their free ends attached to the thick metal bands binding the boy’s upper arms, thighs, wrists and ankles, keeping the lithe body tethered. The boy’s beautiful body was covered with nothing more than torn strips of white cloth winding about the sculpted limbs. The barest modesty offered by the scant covering made the glimpses of smooth skin all the more tantalizing. Just now the beautiful body was sprawled heedlessly, like fresh snow strewn on the black stone. The boy remained motionless as Tezuka approached.

The white dove fluttered nervously in Tezuka’s hand as they drew closer to the circle. Tezuka tightened his grip, trapping its feet between his fingers, and soon the bird gave up, perching quietly on his hand once more. He could feel rhythmic beat of the tiny heart, rich with a promise of its lifeblood, and the sound was tempting. Impossible to miss in the silence of the chamber.

The body on the floor stirred, slowly pushing itself to a sitting position. Crimson lips parted, as if in anticipation. Obligingly, Tezuka lowered his hand until the dove was in easy reach.

Tezuka could never understand the part that came next no matter how many times he witnessed it. Every living thing he’d brought to the chamber was afraid at first. But when the fangs gleamed very white and drew near, invariably the animal would relax and remain perfectly still. Sharp fangs closed over its body but the bird still remained unmoving, as if it didn’t feel the bite. Soon, however, Tezuka had to cup his hand under the dove to support it, hearing its heartbeat quicken at first then grow sluggish. Few drops of warm blood escaped the crimson lips, staining the white feathers with scarlet, pooling on Tezuka’s palm. Finally, the dove was picked up from his hand entirely, and just as its heart came to a stop, the small carcass dropped soundlessly to the black floor underneath.

A thin line of red marked the corner of blood-stained lips, making a line down to the chin. Tezuka reached out to wipe it away when those lips drew closer, reddened tongue darting out to taste the last drops of blood remaining on Tezuka’s palm. Tezuka froze, feeling the slippery warmth of the clever tongue move over his palm in a sensuous glide. Then the tongue moved up, lips closing over the inside of his wrist, razor-sharp fangs just beginning to graze the tender skin.

Tezuka snatched his hand away faster than thought. The other did not stop him. His wrist was unmarked, free from wounds, and for a moment Tezuka felt an irrational stab of disappointment. The blindfold obscured his prisoner’s eyes, cloaked most of his expressions, but it could do nothing to hide the way those crimson lips curled. 

“What have you to fear from me, your humble prisoner? O my master and jailor.” Soft voice from a throat that should be hoarse with disuse, curling like a caress around each word. Tezuka couldn’t help a flinch and was glad the other couldn’t see him.

The heavy chains clanked against the black obsidian floor as the lovely body flowed to its knees. The chains did not allow much movement, but he could crawl forward a little until the fetters held him checked. Even without touching the chains Tezuka could feel the icy burn of hallowed sky-iron on his exposed skin, leeching away all warmth. Yet the other continued to move, twisting in the bonds, testing the chains’ hold. Mesmerized, Tezuka stared at the pale skin, flawless limbs weighed down but rippling with a dancer’s grace. Every movement was seduction, every sound an invitation to touch, to seize, to possess.

Fuji had always been graceful, but his body would never have possessed such serpentine fluidity. Fuji’s lips were the color of ripe peach, never the lascivious crimson that now parted to reveal the porcelain whiteness of his fangs. “Come,” it purred, using Fuji’s voice, baiting him like a false lover. “You know the seal lasts but a hundred years. And the time draws near. Free me. And the reward...” The pale body sat up, preternaturally agile, bringing the undulating motions to a stop. Against the cold stones, wrapped in heavy chains, the pale skin seemed to glow. Even with the blindfold the beauty of that face could not be concealed. The arched eyebrows, the light brown hair framing delicacy of his skin, the fine cheekbones and nose. And the soft skin, marble-white, the moist lips, blood-red. “...the reward will be everything that you desire.”

Tezuka’s breath stopped. A trembling hand reached out, hovering just over the cheek, fingers nearly grazing the white cloth of the blindfold. 

He clenched his hand shut sharply with a short intake of breath. This unnatural being, bound inside the body of the one he’d loved, needed no eyes to hypnotize, no unearthly powers to seduce. He picked up the dead dove and strode out without risking a backward glance, every step accompanied by throaty laughter. When the door shut behind him, cutting off all sight and sound from the chamber, he leaned against the locked door, catching his breath. Doubly cruel, this mockery, coming from the lips of someone he’d loved. Infinitely torturous, to see the body of one who’d haunted his dreams, now overtaken by something alien, one that used that body as nothing more than a tool.

But the being entrapped inside Fuji was right about one thing. Time had run out. For the past few years he’d begun to sense the strain of the obsidian mirror underneath, just barely holding the chains anchored. Each time Fuji’s body moved, testing the bonds, Tezuka could almost feel the white spider-cracks develop in the smooth black glass, fracturing more every day. Already the spell was beginning to fray, weakened with age. Soon, the seal would fail, and without it, the sky-iron would not hold for more than a second. And there was no one left who could cast another spell of sealing.

Soon, when the seal failed and he could find no other way...

Tezuka shut his eyes, trying to keep the rest of his thoughts at bay.

If there was no other way, he would have to kill Fuji.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being so late! I got sick last month and work exploded. x__x Cetera update will be along in a few days.
> 
> Please note this part is NSFW (not safe for work). ;)

[9/7/2014]

**_Chapter 4_ **

“I’m back.”

The room was dark, and for a moment, Mizuki wondered if it was unoccupied. Then a shadow detached itself from the rest of the darkness and came closer. “Welcome back,” the shadow said.

“Can I turn the lights on?”

In lieu of an answer, light flooded the room. Mizuki found himself nearly nose to nose with a young man with brown hair shorn into short spikes, and a pair of serious steel-grey eyes staring into his own. Noting the bloodless cheeks, Mizuki guessed the other must had stayed in the room the whole time.

“Sorry for taking so long. The meeting ran longer than I expected.” Mizuki stepped around him to hang up his tight-fitting black blazer neatly in the closet. Underneath he wore a dark grey vest and a purple shirt made of silk jacquard with subtle rose-patterns woven into the glossy fabric. Mizuki put away the vest as well, but stopped there, looking at his companion’s pallor with a frown. “Have you eaten at all, Yuuta-kun?”

Yuuta shook his head. “Didn’t feel like it.”

Taking one of Yuuta’s hands in his own, Mizuki clucked in disapproval. “Your hands are icy. You should have eaten. I left arrangements in place—”

“I didn’t want _them_ ,” Yuuta interrupted. His luminous grey eyes were intent. “Will you...?”

Mizuki’s lips quirked. “You don’t even have to ask. Didn’t I make it clear that I’m always willing for you?”

At the comment Yuuta ducked his head with a faint blush that briefly suffused his pale cheeks with color. “If you’re tired, I can go grab something out of the fridge,” Yuuta mumbled, not looking at him.

Mizuki waved away the suggestion. “Don’t be silly, Yuuta-kun. You need it fresh, don’t you? To keep strong?” His smile held a coy edge to it. “We’ve done this before. You can’t be feeling shy now.” Without waiting for an answer, Mizuki pulled off his tie and unbuttoned the top three buttons on his shirt. “Come, Yuuta-kun. This will be easier on the bed.”

“What about the meeting results?”

“Those can wait.”

Grey eyes flashed with an odd intensity, and Mizuki swallowed reflexively. “I think,” Yuuta said slowly, deliberately, each word punctuated by a step forward, “you should tell me now, Mizuki-san. Because you won't be in shape to tell me later.”

“Is that right?” Ignoring the heat pooling low in his belly, Mizuki smiled, part inviting, part challenging. Yuuta didn’t rise to it, crossing his arms and leaning back on Mizuki’s desk. Mizuki’s lips quirked. “As you wish, then. Shitenhouji, as you’d expect, is all about maintaining status quo in terms of the truce. Rikkai is against it, and would like to curtail Seigku’s activities as soon as possible – that is, assuming they haven’t already started on their own. Which is about as much as Murigaoka accused, but unless they can find a way to break off the Shitenhouji-Rikkai alliance, nothing will come out of that.” Yuuta nodded, lips tightening at the mention of Seigaku. Mizuki let it go. He had more important news to deliver at the moment. “Yamabuki, like us, reported increased activity from Higa and Nagoya’s Seitoku. There must be half a dozen new vampires in each clan turned within just the past year. Rokkaku has a history with Higa, as you know, and took an exception to that. But controlling the overall sizes of the vampire clans has never fallen within our jurisdiction.” Yuuta smiled at the hint of regret in Mizuki's tone at that. “Even if it did, the practical logistics of trying to curb the increase in vampire population would have rendered the point moot, of course.”

“Did they find the leak?”

“Of course not, Yuuta-kun,” said Mizuki with a sigh. “You knew we wouldn’t.”

“You didn’t give them all our information.” It was a statement, not a question.

Mizuki nodded. “It would have been foolish, especially with a spy in our midst. Given the nature of information that was previously leaked, I would have to assume the informant is one of those who regularly attend the Head Council. Possibly more than one, at that.”

“Can Shitenhouji be trusted? If we collaborated, maybe we can ferret them out.”

Mizuki considered it, but with a measure of disdain. “Perhaps. But who will watch the watchmen? We have no way of ascertaining loyalty of every hunter within the Order of Shitenhouji, even if we can trust Shiraishi and his immediate subordinates. And Rikkai keeps a close watch on their every move even as they ignore ours. No, I wouldn’t advise it at this time.”

“Makes it a lonely battle, though.” Yuuta’s comment was made with an uncharacteristic hint of weariness. “Never knowing who to trust.”

Mizuki made a soft hum of agreement. “It has always been like that for us. You have to remember, Yuuta-kun: we are a lethal force. Our hunters have extraordinary powers not found in the rest of the human population. They are granted weapons of special power and trained to kill. No matter how much we endeavor to educate them in responsible use of their power, they are also granted a license to kill at will, and the assurance their order will protect them even if they make a mistake. Unlike some of our more blindsided colleagues, I do not insist hunters have never been responsible for a human death. You and I have lived through enough of those.”

Yuuta was grim-faced. If anyone, Yuuta would remember. The murder of Fuji Yoshiko the Last Heir had signaled the death of the fragile truce she’d authored. The enigmatic, ever-smiling princess had been adored and revered by thousands of vampires worldwide, admired even by many hunters. After her death the vampires had accused the hunters, and the hunters had denied responsibility and accused the vampires in turn. And accusations escalated quickly between two kinds with millennia-old blood feud already between them. The bloodbath that followed was the worst since the war which ended with the death of the last Grand Master of hunter orders. Even worse in some ways, because extremist factions among the hunters systemically targeted the most vulnerable among the vampire clans: the human providers. The vampire extremist factions retaliated with equal viciousness, and preyed on the most vulnerable among the hunter orders: the children. It took both sides over two decades to rein in the atrocities, to weed out and even eliminate the extremist factions on both sides. It was partly because of this that so many of the hunter orders and vampire clans ended up with new young leaders during the last century.

It could have been a war to extinction. If human fury hadn't eclipsed even their blood-feud. If 1945 hadn't shown just what humans were capable of creating. That for all their powers the hunters and the vampires were but a tiny fraction of inhabitants on earth. And all were equally and chillingly vulnerable to the awful power conjured up by a handful of brilliant human scientists. So quietly the war between the vampires and the hunters slid back into obscurity. Since then, save for isolated skirmishes and the usual conflicts, the truce had held.

The fathomless darkness in the unnaturally luminous grey eyes told him Yuuta was lost in memories, of the event that robbed Yuuta of his entire family in one fell blow. Those terrible memories had driven Yuuta, restless with a fury deep in his bones, to search for the truth even if it meant turning his back on his own kind. Mizuki had capitalized on it, of course, and successfully so. The only surviving childe of the Last Heir, adored like a prince by the vampires. Other orders could gibber on what they liked; Mizuki knew what he held in his grasp.

If he could hold on to it, of course. And that was why it was so vital to keep strengthening this bond between them. By any means necessary.

“The Echizen fledgling is nothing but a hatchling. Warranting caution, of course, but we...” Holding Yuuta with his eyes, Mizuki sat on the bed, curving his lips in a slow, inviting smile. “We have you, Yuuta-kun. That is more than enough.”

Yuuta’s eyes were irresistibly drawn to his bared throat. Darkening grey eyes watched every motion Mizuki’s throat made as he swallowed. Slowly, Mizuki undid another button, then another, leaving a strip of pale skin bared between the dark silk until the shirt was unbuttoned to his waist. Yuuta followed his every movement, drinking Mizuki with his eyes, hunger bordering on avarice in his gaze.

“Mizuki-san...”

It wasn’t an entreaty, but a warning. Yuuta hadn’t fed in a few days. The blood-thirst must be overwhelming, beginning to override reason, leaving behind only instinct. For decades Mizuki had carefully studied the vampires and their behavior. How their preternatural senses could map out every blood vessel in the body of their prey, how drawn they were to the pounding rhythm of the heart, by the blood racing through a living body. Blood called to them, it was said, like a visceral pull. No matter how gentle his usual temperament, a starving vampire would invariably transform into a beast ruled only by the instinct to feed. How long before the hunger became painful, became all-consuming? A few days? Weeks?

The knot of fear in the pit of his stomach made him take in a short breath. Mizuki could feel his heart speed up, his breathing quicken, his body flush with blood. Yuuta closed his eyes as if from physical pain, then opened them, revealing the luminous eyes gone wide and stark with naked want. Like one in dream Yuuta drew closer, lips parting, until he nearly buried his nose in Mizuki’s throat, where his neck melted into his shoulders. Yuuta’s left hand was behind him now, pushing him gently forward, and Mizuki swallowed. No matter how many times they did this, he could never quite banish the moment of dreadful anticipation.

Sharp fangs slid into his skin with no more trouble than a skilled surgeon’s scalpel would, twin pinprick points at the base of his neck. Distantly Mizuki heard a gasp, and knew it must have come from his own throat. It took conscious effort to relax, to unwind his taut muscles, to breathe through the fear that threatened to drown him. Yuuta’s arm around him was like a vice now, keeping him in place with superhuman strength. Mizuki deliberately relaxed into the hold, winding his arm around Yuuta, holding him close in a lover’s embrace. The initial surprise was over, leaving him with a clearer head, and Mizuki leaned back as Yuuta pressed even closer. The sudden rush of blood to his head was making him dizzy, his heartbeat pounding in his temples, but his mind was now free of fear. Could swear he felt the tug on every vessel as Yuuta suckled from him, but the thought inspired no terror in him. Acceptance left him lethargic and floating, waiting for the next part to come.

As if hearing him, Yuuta growled. A whoosh of breath escaped him as his back abruptly met the bed, but Mizuki was ready. Yuuta pulled at him, hands clawing at him as if to tear him apart, but never delivering on the unspoken threat. This was Yuuta. Yuuta, Mizuki reminded himself, would never hurt him. Couldn’t hurt him. Had to remember, had to believe, or his control over the moment would snap like a fragile thread. Then, Yuuta pulled him down sharply, nearly to the edge of the bed, and Mizuki let out a soft grunt of surprise.

Yuuta was hot and hard against him. Only then Mizuki smiled, certain of his control again. As Yuuta surged against him again, Mizuki obligingly opened his legs, cradling Yuuta between them. Yuuta instantly took advantage of his unspoken permission, and the pressure against Mizuki’s own hardness was maddening. Finally, Yuuta pulled his mouth away with a harsh gasp, body now taken over by a different urgency.

The true culmination of a vampire’s desire wasn’t taking blood, but life itself. The greatest climax lay in the hammering of the heart pushed to the brink. The ultimate satiation brought about only by the dwindling beat of the victim’s heart just before it came to a halt. Given into instincts entirely, Yuuta wouldn’t stop until Mizuki’s heart stopped. But enough of Yuuta’s reason remained with him that he didn’t want Mizuki dead. And a vampire remained just human enough that an alternative, a pale imitation of death, was acceptable.

La petite mort. _Little death_ , the French called it. The culmination of human desire. With a gasp Mizuki gave himself over, letting his thoughts scatter like chaffs in the wind. With both life and death so close, his body too was aching with desire, confused and clamoring for a conclusion, _any_ conclusion. Yuuta ground into him mercilessly, hard and burning even through the layers of clothes between them. Lightheaded with blood loss and desire, Mizuki gasped and moaned, pushing back desperately. Yuuta responded with forceful thrusts, rearing up to pin Mizuki down by the wrists, rutting against him frantically. Unbidden, Mizuki’s legs tightened around Yuuta, no longer cradling but grasping with a rapacious lust. They strained together for one frenzied moment, suspended, then with a harsh gasp Yuuta collapsed against him.

Crushed under Yuuta’s solid weight, Mizuki panted. The force of his orgasm had left him shaky, unable to think just yet. Yuuta was caressing him now, slow and possessive, all but purring in his ear. The twin puncture wounds on his neck still bled, marking sluggish trail of red over his cooling skin. Lazily, like a sated cat Yuuta licked at it, then pressed now-warm fingertips over the marks, holding the pressure steady until they stopped bleeding. The punctures were made with skill and control borne from experience, just deep enough to start the blood, but small enough to heal without intervention.

But the site of the bite was still sore, and when warm lips descended to graze the skin, Mizuki let out a moan. The lips withdrew, tracing his temples and eyelids instead. Finally, they settled on Mizuki’s lips, pulling and nibbling lightly on the upper lip, then repeating the treatment with the lower lip. With a last lingering caress, they disappeared, and so did the warm weight on top of him. Mizuki let out a sleepy noise of protest at the loss of warmth, and was answered by an amused chuckle. Before he could protest the affront, he was picked up as if he weighed no more than a doll and laid down on the bed properly. Cool sheets and the gentle weight of the comforter settled on his body, soft as eiderdown, and Mizuki fought to stay conscious, his mind still distantly remembering there was one more thing he needed to do.

“...bed...” Mizuki mumbled, scarcely aware whether or not his words formed a coherent sentence. If he’d been more awake, he would have been appalled at his own lapse. “...Stay.”

They must have made some semblance of sense, however, since a warm body slid into the bed next to him, and drew him close. Nestled against the solidness of muscle and warm skin, Mizuki surrendered to the soothing, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the little digression I'd promised a couple of people. I couldn't talk about this until after Ch 3 because that's where the first surprise hits. Here's how it came about.
> 
> This story was born after a LiveJournal-based TeniPuri RPG with a similar setting went down. I was in it only very briefly, but I HAD set up things for Shiraishi (who was a hunter) that I was loath to abandon. And I felt like I wanted to write a bit more for Yuuta and Akaya. There are some things I borrowed from the RPG, such as the hunters vs. vampires antagonism, and the word "Source" (but without the context; the mods never got around to explaining what that WAS). The rest are my own inventions, with homage to Anne Rice's _An Interview with a Vampire_ and Joss Whedon's _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.
> 
> Problem was, once I decided Shiraishi (and thus Shitenhouji) was a hunter, I had to be careful to balance the two sides. I wanted Seigaku as (sort of) bad guys for once, so Seigaku drew vampire. I figured Rikkai was more likely to be fanatic vampire hunters than Hyoutei, so that was two more schools sorted. For the life of me I couldn't imagine Rokkaku boys as vampires, so they drew hunter, which meant Higa, their canon antagonist, drew vampire. (lol) And St. Rudolph HAD to be a hunter order, it's a Catholic school! :D But that left a wrinkle: how to explain the Fuji Syuusuke-Yuuta divide?
> 
> In fact how was I going to get Yuuta into a hunter order at all? Because you have to admit, not while his older brother was still around. So the idea naturally progressed to perhaps Syuusuke WASN'T around. But why?
> 
> Then a random and very evil thought whispered: 'Maybe Tezuka's keeping him locked up in the basement.'
> 
> I kid you not. It was a completely random thought. And my mind pounced on it because did I mention the idea is evil and twisted? It was so twisted. AND PERFECT. And at that point the rest of the plot revealed itself to me, and here we are.
> 
> That, dear readers, is how this project came to be.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this story's been stalled for a while. Between NaNoWriMo 2014 and Cetera, this one got shafted a bit, haha.
> 
> The thing I hate yet cannot help: editing a story AFTER it's posted. I hate it, but I can't help it. x__x For Bloodstone, though, the later chapters and conclusion need a LOT of work, and I may be forced to edit some of the earlier chapters later on. Since it's something I really dislike, I thought I'd give fair warning. ^__~
> 
> Beginning of the chapter is based loosely on the OVA Prince of Naniwa, because it was just too good to miss.
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always! ♥

[12/14/2014]

**_Chapter 5_ **

Akaya looked up. Akaya looked down. Akaya looked up again.

Nope, no trick of the eye. The address was correct, it even had the Shitenhouji sign and everything, and...it was the entrance to a temple. A large Buddhist temple.

Many of the orders disguised their true operation using different methods. Rikkai, for example, was an extremely exclusive private academy. St. Rudolph, having origin within the Roman Catholic Church, operated an honest-to-God Catholic seminary as their cover. In both cases, vast majority of its students and even faculty remained unaware they were home to two of the largest hunter orders in Japan.

So Shitenhouji’s cover was a Buddhist temple, apparently. Although given Rokkaku ran a beachside wedding hall, with its hunters working day jobs as florists and caterers, perhaps a temple was a more dignified option. As for Yamabuki...best not go there.

With a sigh, Akaya raised a hand to knock.

“OUTTA WAY!!!!”

Akaya had been active on the field for two years. He was one of the finest hunters of his generation. Therefore, Akaya ducked just in time to avoid a flying...boy?

Who smashed face-first into the wooden lintel with a resounding _SMACK_.

“Behind you!”

Akaya stepped to his left, body moving instinctively, and another body whizzed past him and sailed straight into the doorpost.

“FORE!”

This time he jumped barely in time to somersault over the pair of bodies sliding all the way to the double doors. Landing lightly on his feet, he stared incredulously at the four bodies on the floor. What was going on here? Who were these clowns?

“Duck!”

Akaya did. He’d reacted to same instruction from a teammate often enough on the field that the reaction was automatic and immediate. Someone used his back as a springboard, using the moment to dive in the air, arcing gracefully over the air to—

THWACK!

—Plant his face right in the crack between the double doors.

It was only when the last body stood up and faced him with a bruised grin that Akaya’s jaws hit the floor. “Shiraishi-san?!?!”

“Hey there, Kirihara-kun. Welcome to Shitenhouji.”

“Uh...” Akaya looked over the rest of the four – whom he belatedly recognized as the key members of the order – in helpless confusion. “Just...why—?”

"It's a very special building," Shiraishi said solemnly, like that explained everything. "One cannot enter the normal way."

"Huh." Akaya looked at the sturdy wooden doors doubtfully. "Do I have to—"

"GIVE IT YOUR BEST SHOT!"

"Go for it!!"

Shiraishi gestured for his teammates for quiet. "Nah, you're excused. Official business and all. I heard from Yukimura already." There was a chorus of disappointed noise. Shiraishi cheerfully ignored them and waved him through the doors, which opened with heavy creaking sound. "Come in, come in. Make yourself at home."

The rest of the Shitenhouji members filed in and dispersed quickly, absorbed to various parts of the complex. Akaya blinked. Before him lay a series enclosed buildings and elevated halls with expansive courtyards, and a glimpse of gardens beyond another gateway. For a hunter headquarters it was surprisingly peaceful. Beautiful, even. Nothing of the imposing majesty of Rikkai Academy, or even St. Rudolph's religious austerity. Shitenhouji was inviting and calm, almost like what a real idealized temple might be.

"I'll give you the grand tour. We have a beautiful garden and we all help out taking care of it..." Before Akaya could even blink in protest, Shiraishi grabbed him by the arm and dragged him off. The sudden change in turn might have been startling if Akaya hadn't been dealing with Marui _and_ Niou on a daily basis. With a mental shrug Akaya fell in step with Shiraishi, wondering what the Shitenhouji commander was up to; at least with Shiraishi he was reasonably sure it wasn't another stupid prank.

Once they were nestled in the meticulously tended greenery of the garden, Shiraishi spoke very quietly, lips barely moving. "So what was so urgent and so important that you had to come all the way out here to bring the message in person?"

Akaya wasn't terribly surprised. Subtlety wasn’t exactly Akaya’s forte. But when he asked how he was supposed deliver Yukimura's message without anyone else noticing, Yanagi gave him a look and said Shiraishi would take care of it, so he needed only to play along. Self-consciously, Akaya cleared his throat. "It's nice. Your place." Shiraishi had an arm linked with his already, so it took only a small sleight of hand to slip the small object into the bandaged hand.

Shiraishi beamed even as his fingers closed around the flash drive. "We take good care of it. I'll show you where we train!"

During their quick walk around the complex (which was big – although Rikkai's was bigger), Akaya managed to convey he knew nothing of what the message contained, his commander being of the mind the less Akaya knew the better, and while Shiraishi didn't look pleased, he made no comment. Instead, he flashed Akaya a friendly smile and called over one of the members to help Akaya with his ostensible objective for visiting Shitenhouji: to pick up his new weapon.

The boy who bounded over was short, loud and hyperactive. And Akaya spared a moment to wonder if he was even of age to join the ranks of hunters. The minimal age to sign up was thirteen, the last he checked, with active combat duty being barred until the age of sixteen. Akaya himself had officially started his duties at age sixteen, although he'd been tagging along on missions for a couple years before then. But surely the kid couldn't be older than twelve?

“HEY! I’m Tooyama Kintarou. Kirihara Akaya, right?”

And the kid was _really loud_. Akaya winced, and caught a knowing smile from Shiraishi before he waved them off. “Uh. Yeah. Nice to meet you.”

“Come on! I have to go pick up my stuff too!”

“You?” Akaya cast a doubtful look at Shiraishi, but another Shitenhouji member had pounced on the field commander the moment Shiraishi relinquished his hold on Akaya’s arm. Shiraishi did remember Akaya was supposed to be picking up his field weapon, right? “You’re...picking up a practice weapon?” Akaya hazarded a guess.

“Nope! Field weapon! I broke mine again.”

Akaya gaped at him. “Wait. How old are you?”

“Fifteen!” Kintarou looked at him with a wide grin. “I got special permission to be on the field early.”

“Oh, so _you’re_ that kid Yanagi-san was talking about.” Complaining about, more like. Akaya didn’t see the problem himself, but Yanagi had always been a stickler for the rules, way more than even Sanada and Yukimura. His eyes fell on the carefully wrapped bundle strapped to Kintarou’s back, Akaya frowned in confusion. “I thought you said you broke your weapon?”

“My secondary weapon,” Kintarou clarified. “I have two! I’ve never broken my first one.”

Akaya could feel his annoyance rise. “I thought standard issue was just one weapon.” He wanted a secondary weapon, too, damn it.

“Depends on your fighting style. ‘Sides, my first one’s family heirloom from my dad.” Kintarou stopped at a building Akaya guessed must be where the lessons took place: the courtyard was all unpacked, soft dirt here, with training equipment around the edges. “Hold on. Gin’s the one who picked them up this time around and I think he’s still teaching.”

The edifice itself was elevated, as was the custom, several steps above the ground. The old-fashioned shoji doors were open. Inside, Akaya counted perhaps a dozen children sitting neatly at traditional study tables, listening to a huge, bald man reading from a dog-eared copy of a text Akaya vaguely remembered from his own lessons as a child.

“So it remains thus. Vampires are immortal, and age and sickness cannot touch them. But the sunlight is fatal to them, with fire serving as a pale imitation of the sun. No garlic and crosses of yore, no holy water and stake will avail against the vampires, but the touch of holy sky-iron through their heart or their head will kill as if from a mortal wound. And even a vampire’s accelerated regenerative ability cannot grow severed limbs. But the forging of the hallowed sky-iron weapons is an art jealously guarded, passed from one ironsmith to the next, the location of each forge kept in utmost secrecy. Even amongst the highest echelon of hunters, the knowledge of the ironsmiths is closely kept.”

Akaya held back a snort. To say that the ironsmiths were guarded carefully was akin to saying the sky was sort of blue, or that ocean was a little bit deep. Even now, only the head of each order even knew how to communicate with them to place orders for weapons. And the finished orders were delivered to different places, and never with any pattern in the choices. This time, the designated pick-up location was within Shitenhouji territory, and as it were, the Shitenhouji hunters had picked up the finished weapons and brought them to their headquarters. Hence his cover story.

“Finish up to chapter 22 and be ready to answer questions about the Codex as set forth by the Council of Twelve Orders. Don’t forget your essay’s due in two weeks. Does anyone have any questions?” A short stretch of silence was the only answer. “Alright, then. Class dismissed.”

The class murmured their thank-you politely enough, but scattered instantly like caged birds set free. Remembering his own lessons as a child, Akaya couldn’t help feeling sympathetic. He’d always done so much better with practical lessons than anything book-related. Well, to be more accurate, anything he needed on the field had stuck. But anything historical or cultural, in short anything Akaya did not see the point of, had slipped his mind as soon as he’d passed the exams. His student amnesia, as Marui called it, was a constant source of exasperation for Sanada and Yanagi.

“Sorry for the wait. Here to pick up your weapons?”

“Yep! Me and Kirihara Akaya here, from Rikkai.”

“Ishida Gin,” the teacher introduced himself, saving Akaya from having to ask. “So you’re the Rikkai’s young ace. I’ve heard about you.”

“Er, yeah. Nice to meet you?” Akaya said awkwardly. He’d never been a favorite among the teachers, and never felt very comfortable around them.

“I’ll bring over your weapon to you by tonight. Are you planning to head back right away?”

Akaya hesitated. He would have very much preferred to, but Yanagi hadn’t given him a timeline, and besides, the cardinal rule of the hunters was to travel only during daytime. Although vampires had human providers who could (and often did) spy for them, the number of trusted human providers was limited, and traveling by the day could go a long way in keeping the vampires less informed about the hunter movements. “First thing tomorrow morning,” Akaya decided.

Ishida nodded. “I’ll arrange for a room, then. Kintarou?”

“What?” The boy in question whined like a pro – definitely a teenager. “Why do I have to run errands for everyone? Shiraishi _just_ sent me over here for Kirihara! I was looking forward to sparring with him!”

“If Kirihara-kun is returning tomorrow, you will have a chance. That is, if you are willing?” The last was to Akaya, who nodded after a moment of thought. “So go and ask Koiishikawa to get a room ready for Kirihara-kun, will you?”

Kintarou huffed. “Fine. But you promised!”

“Yes, of course.”

Ishida was amazingly patient, Akaya decided. Perhaps that was why he was the teacher. “Thanks, I appreciate your help,” Akaya said, because despite what his teammates said, he had manners, thank you.

“Not at all. Have you had a chance to look around? It’s your first visit here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Shiraishi gave me the tour.” Belatedly, Akaya corrected himself. “I mean Shiraishi-san. He was very kind.”

Ishida gave him a small smile. “That’s alright. Shiraishi doesn’t care much about ceremony.” His expression turned fonder, and more distant. “Besides, having you here must have made him nostalgic about back when Yukimura and Sanada were fostered here. At that time, they were even younger than you are now.”

Wait, what? Yukimura and Sanada, in Shitenhouji? Somehow, Yanagi had neglected to mention that. “Captain and Sanada-san used to be in Shitenhouji?” Akaya managed, and was relieved to hear he didn’t sound as flabbergasted as he felt.

“Not as part of Shitenhouji. We’re talking about nearly a hundred years ago. Japan had a lot of political unrest around that time, and the whole country was affected. There were some problems we hunters all faced. Shitenhouji harbored a lot of young members from different orders, for safety and education. Yukimura and Sanada were among them.”

“So – they trained under you? And Shiraishi-san?” It was hard to picture his commander and vice-commander as children. Yukimura, perhaps, since Akaya had seen a childhood picture once, but Sanada? Everyone in his team swore Sanada must have been born with an old man’s face.

“Mostly under Shiraishi. I was just getting my feet wet in the field at the time. Shiraishi was already a veteran by then.”

“Shiraishi-san’s older than you?”

Ishida, rather than getting angry, chuckled at Akaya’s tone. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“But he looks so young!” Akaya blurted out. He would have sworn Shiraishi was only about Yukimura’s age, although perhaps that wasn’t a very good comparison; Yukimura didn’t look a day older than twenty, and he was already over 120 years old.

“You know how that works: the stronger the Nephilic blood, the longer a hunter lives. Although Shiraishi is special, even by our standards.”

“So, um, how old is Shiraishi-san?” Akaya wasn’t being nosy. He was just gathering information. That was what a hunter did. Yes.

“He just turned 174 in April.”

“174...!” Akaya was struck by another horrible thought. “Wait. So...how old is Watanabe-san?”

Ishida’s mouth quirked. “Over 200, and he won’t say by how much.”

“Damn.” Akaya was impressed despite himself. Watanabe Osamu, the current head of Shitenhouji, barely looked thirty. Which meant both Watanabe and Shiraishi must have an exceptionally strong strain of Nephilic blood. “What about their family? They must be all hunters. Are they all in Shitenhouji, too?”

A shadow crossed Ishida’s expression. “You don’t know?”

Akaya blinked in confusion. “Uh, no.”

Ishida let out a breath. “Well. It’s a well-known story, but an old one. You may not have heard it.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Akaya told him hastily. He was okay with not hearing the story. Really. Better than having Ishida give him the disappointed teacher look. 

Ishida studied him. “Yukimura sent you here,” he said finally. “He always does things for a reason. So you might as well hear it now.” There was a short pause. “With Osamu-san, there isn’t much to tell. Just that he had a wife before he entered the order. And a baby daughter. Both were killed by vampires.”

“Oh.” Great. Now he felt bad for asking. Akaya winced, knowing Shiraishi’s story must be similar.

“As for Shiraishi...he’s never met his father, the way I understand it. But he had a mother and a younger sister. His mother was from the Shiraishi clan, a hunter family. They say...” Ishida let out a long sigh. “She had a habit of wandering outside at night. When Shiraishi was eleven, his mother was killed, and found...rather prominently displayed.” Ishida’s tone made it clear in what way, and Akaya swallowed.

“Not long after, Shiraishi lost his sister as well, and joined the order of Shitenhouji at the age of thirteen. As soon as he reached sixteen, he was on the field, and you know the rest.”

Actually, Akaya _didn’t_ know the rest. Some of his confusion must have shown on his face, because Ishida’s expression softened. “You’re rather unlike Yukimura.”

_Duh._ Akaya just barely kept from saying that aloud. Nobody who even remotely knew him would ever have accused him of being similar to Yukimura Seiichi. The captain and field commander of Rikkai was known for his strategic brilliance and ruthlessness in equal measure, and for his ability to plan ten steps ahead of everyone else. Whereas planning ahead had never been Akaya’s forte. “Should I be?” he asked, a touch defensive, but somehow that just made Ishida laugh.

“Not at all. I’m a little surprised, but pleasantly so.” Ishida gestured for Akaya to join him, leading the way. “I remember Yukimura at your age. Sanada, too. They were really something even then. Absorbed everything like a sponge. Best students I’ve ever seen in my life.” A shrewd glance at him, and Ishida continued. “One of the best hunters, too. Small wonder they got along so well with Shiraishi back then. Of course, it helped at the time Shiraishi was adamantly opposed to the truce. Understandable though it was.”

“Wait, what? Shiraishi-san was opposed to the truce?” That was certainly not the impression he’d gotten from Shiraishi the time they met at the Sky Dome.

“Yes.” Ishida’s tone was neutral.

“No fooling?”

“No,” Ishida confirmed, looking part amused, part weary. “At the time, Shiraishi was absolutely convinced vampires and humans cannot coexist—”

“—any more than wolves and sheep can, enclosed together in the same pen of this world,” Akaya finished, understanding dawning on him. “Yukimura-san and Sanada-san, they picked that up from Shiraishi-san. Didn’t they?”

Ishida nodded. “They were rather close back in the days. The difference is, Shiraishi changed his view over the years. Yukimura and Sanada didn’t.”

“And you?” Akaya was genuinely curious. At Rikkai, nobody ever questioned the tenet that Yukimura and Sanada held so sacred. Certainly, there were hunter orders like Rokkaku and Yamabuki, who traditionally favored a more moderate approach, and supported the truce. But with such close ties with Rikkai, he hadn’t imagined Shitenhouji of all orders might feel that way.

Ishida looked him gravely, and Akaya suddenly felt like a child under that piercing regard. “Many of the hunter families have a blood-feud with the vampire clans,” Ishida started, and his voice was like something carved in stone. “And it’s not hard to see why so many hunters see our fate to be a war to the extinction. But I think our ancestors, the Nephilim, rather proved that the annihilation of each other is hardly a viable option, if it’s an option at all. I think our war, if war it is, should be about achieving balance, not a total destruction of one or both sides.”

"Is that what you all think at Shitenhouji?" It was...if not shocking, at least odd coming from one of the key members of the order, one who was a teacher to the younger generation at that. Certainly, since 1945 the extremist movement has lost much of its momentum, and even orders as devoted to the cause as Rikkai recognized practical reality. Waging war against the entirety of vampire-kind without the unanimous support of all orders across the world would be suicidal at best, catastrophic at worst. The last thing either kind needed was exposure to the world at large, which thankfully remained content to ignore the minor vampire-hunter skirmishes hidden under the cover of everyday human crimes. But their blood-feud, as Ishida called it, was an ancient one, and not so easily forgotten, especially not with countless hunters who shared Shiraishi and Watanabe's blood-stained stories.

A ghost of a smile crossed Ishida's lips. "Of course not. You asked for my opinion, Kirihara-kun. And I have given it honestly."

"Oh." It was still baffling, however. How could Shiraishi of all people change his opinion so much, when he'd lost his entire family to vampires? "I don't..." Ishida's expression was still the patient, understanding one, and hell, this wasn't even his order. He could afford to ask dumb questions here, right? Akaya plowed on ahead, discretion be damned. "I don't get Shiraishi-san. If I was him, I'd hate the vampires forever. Why would he change his mind?"

The smile transformed Ishida's grave face into something warm and approving, and Akaya was startled to see it. Some of his teammates had given him the same expression on occasion, and it never failed to make him feel embarrassed and pleased at the same time.

"You are honest and straightforward, Kirihara-kun. I hope you never lose those qualities." Ishida slowed down so they were ambling at a more leisurely pace through the stretch of a garden between two enclosed building complexes. "To answer your question, Shiraishi never was a person who could hate someone forever, no matter how bitter his grievances. Besides which – you should never forget: vampires were humans once, and not all of them became vampires by choice. To many hunters, the vampires’ very nature makes them irredeemable in their eyes. But that's like saying a murderer must lose all his civil and basic human rights because of his crimes. He must pay, certainly, but should he be treated as anything less than a human being?"

"Er..." Philosophical debate was never his thing. Akaya hesitated, then decided Ishida wasn't likely to rip his head off for being wrong or disagreeing with him. Besides, when did that ever stop him back home at Rikkai? "But they still do murder other human beings, the vampires. So they _should_ pay. Even if we treat them like human beings. I don't know if I buy that, honestly, but – yeah."

Ishida chuckled. "You and Kintarou will get along well, I should think. That's exactly what he said on the subject." Huh, so even the key members of Shitenhouji didn't necessarily share Shiraishi and Ishida's benevolent view on the vampires. Comforting to know. Ishida continued, as if sensing Akaya's thoughts. "But even Kintarou makes exceptions. Willingness to change, to accept changes, is not a weakness, Kirihara-kun. Nothing is ever absolute. Shiraishi didn't change his mind out of nowhere. He had his reasons."

"What were they?"

Akaya was genuinely curious at this point, but Ishida merely gave him a sidelong glance, then his shoulders started shaking in soundless laughter. "That, you will have to ask him directly. It's no wonder Shiraishi became fond of you. You and Kintarou are alike in many ways."

Tooyama Kintarou? Akaya pulled an expressive and very justified face at the comparison. Just where did he resemble the immature, overconfident, loudmouthed and hyperactive brat? Not to mention the kid in question was only fifteen and really short.

Ishida's laughter became fully voiced, and Akaya chewed on his lip in annoyance, realizing those were exactly the words his seniors had used to describe him when _he_ was fifteen. "I'm taller," he mumbled. He knew he sounded sulky, but couldn't bring himself to care.

"And older," Ishida agreed placidly. "Which why I ask now: please guide our youngster, Kirihara-kun."

"Like hell he'll want to be guided," Akaya said without thinking, then stopped. Whoops, he hadn't meant to say that aloud. But if Kintarou was anything like Akaya himself, the boy was going to listen to exactly no one unless it suited him.

"Probably not." Ishida didn't sound upset about that. "But he could use a listening ear from someone who shares his views and has gone through similar experiences. Even if he doesn't realize it now."

Akaya grimaced. "Um. I'm probably the last person anyone wants advice from. And I'm not good with being patient and shit. Stuff." It was strange not to hear the "Akaya, language" in either Sanada or Yanagi's voice right around that point. "Anyway I'm part of Rikkai. He's Shitenhouji. And it don't look like he'd need much help. And if he does he has all of you."

"As you have your own team," Ishida observed mildly. "I'm glad you seem to have such favorable opinion of us."

"Yeah?" Was Ishida being sarcastic? Akaya gave him a suspicious look, but Ishida's expression was serious, no hint of mockery in his gaze.

"Yes. It's obvious your team supports you and regards you highly." Something about Ishida's tone struck Akaya, like he wanted to say more, but was refraining. "And Yukimura and Sanada sent you here. That already speaks volumes in itself."

Okay, Akaya didn't see where Ishida was getting all of that, but that, at least, was something he was used to. And Ishida didn't mean him harm. Of that he was certain. He might not be the most logical or analytical of his team, but Akaya trusted his gut instincts; they'd never led him astray before. "Okay...?"

"Still, it would be nice if you and Kintarou could be friends."

"You mean allies?" Akaya could understand that. Inter-order relations were important, and often precariously balanced with conflicting interests. Young and annoying the kid might be, but even Akaya knew what it meant when Shiraishi and Ishida were grooming Tooyama Kintarou so carefully.

"Friends," Ishida corrected. There was a hint of smile in his voice.

"I'll...try," Akaya answered uncertainly. Seriously, they were three whole years apart. They could try, sure, but Akaya couldn't see how this could ever work.

Ishida nodded with a small smile, and led them through the maze of gateways and courtyards toward the main building. "Come. Shiraishi will want to speak with you soon."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I hope you enjoy my new year's offering. Kind of.
> 
> Bloodstone, originally named Firestone, started on May 15, 2013 and finished on December 31, 2013. So today is the first anniversary of its completion. Well. Completion of first draft. No guarantees on the revisions. *sigh* I've got a long way to go still.
> 
> This part is kind of clumpy. And gets into some...issues. Plus mention of minor character death. And there is a discussion of violence and rape, though not in detail. I thought I'd give fair warning regardless.
> 
> [ETA] Oh, and apparently 12/31 is Chitose Senri's birthday? Happy birthday, Chitose. Sorry for all the cockblock I do to you in Bloodstone. XD

[12/31/2014]

**_Chapter 6_ **

A prickling sensation in the back of his neck was the only warning.

Dark figure, moving like a shadow. If it hadn't been for the thrumming of living blood calling to him, he might not even have noticed until Shiraishi was almost upon him. Shiraishi was walking quickly, but with the wariness of someone whose instincts knew he was not alone. Between the two heartbeats it took Shiraishi to turn his head, Chitose moved.

"Shiraishi," Chitose whispered almost directly in Shiraishi's ear. Shiraishi stiffened, but did not draw his weapon, which told him either Shiraishi had noticed, or had gotten used to his presence enough to distinguish him from a hostile opponent. Nonetheless it must be uncomfortable for Shiraishi to remain still, fighting his hunter instincts, until Chitose stepped around him into plain view.

"Chitose." Shiraishi's brows creased, and Chitose knew he'd noticed the scent of blood. Not the warm metallic tang of living blood, but blood nonetheless. "You're wounded."

Chitose's sigh sounded wry even to his own ears. "Yeah, but under the circumstances I have to admit – I got lucky."

"Did you find them?"

"They were found. But not by me." Chitose met his eyes, unblinking. "We won't be hearing from them again."

Shiraishi cursed under his breath. "So we're right back to where we started."

"I wish." Weariness wrapped around him, and even his vision, which viewed the night with a preternatural brightness, seemed to dim.

"Who was it? Must have been someone special to do away with the Samurai."

Chitose's mouth tightened. "That's the part that worries me: I don’t know." A short pause later he asked, "Echizen Ryoma?"

"Safely ensconced with Seigaku, but you saw to that. Why?"

"Might wanna give Seigaku a heads-up."

"Wouldn't they know already?"

Chitose laughed, but it was a humorless sound. “I doubt it. Nanjirou was always very good at not being found when he put his mind to it. I’m pretty sure I’m the first one to know.”

"Shit."

“Yep,” Chitose agreed wryly. “How’re things with Rikkai?”

“Restless,” Shiraishi admitted. “Yukimura is all for neutralizing the threat before it finishes materializing. His words. Yamabuki’s leaning more pro-Rikkai lately, especially with Akutsu – I think you’ve heard of him? – in their ranks. Banda’s turned more militant-minded the last few years.”

He’d heard about Yamabuki’s Akutsu Jin and his deceased mother Yuuki. Rumors, and some confidential files he hacked into, but Shiraishi probably knew that already. “Hmm, not sure. You can’t be talking about the bloodthirsty demon of Yamabuki. The one with a mother tortured by hunters and murdered by vampires?”

As he expected, his deliberately frivolous tone made Shiraishi frown. “His hatred for hunters is only marginally less than his hatred for vampires,” he said, half a warning. “Banda thinks it worthwhile because he is a damned good fighter. But he’s too violent, liable to turn even on his own allies—”

“But not on humans,” Chitose cut in. “Isn’t that more important?” His question was sharp, temper beginning to fray by the spikes of pain he was struggling to ignore.

“It is,” Shiraishi conceded the point, but it was clear he wasn’t conceding the argument. “But Akutsu is too unstable, a danger to others.”

Chitose gave him a narrow-eyed look. “You bred an elite, lethal force with powers absent in ordinary humans. Gave them weapons _and_ a license to kill. Set them loose in the civilian population. And you didn’t expect trouble?”

Shiraishi’s eyes narrowed in turn. “We have measures in place—” Shiraishi began stiffly.

“—That have already proven how ineffective they are in reality.” Chitose did not quite snap, but it was a near thing. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Chitose closed his eyes and continued in a calmer tone. “Exactly what we vampires found out about our own rules, if you remember. And I’m not even talking about the aftermath of the whole Fuji Yoshiko business. Even before the princess ever entered the picture we had problems, both the vampires and the hunters. As much as both would deny it, we are far too human to be above human failings.”

Two worlds, equally inhuman but with all too human flaws, sharing a culture at whose foundation was the worship of power. Vampires sought purity of blood because blood held power. But blood could just as easily become a temptation. Blood from a fellow vampire, particular of pure lineage, could provide a potent boost in strength. There were reasons vampire clans enforced stringent rules regarding fledglings and their protection. Why rogue vampires were taken out so brutally fast. Nonetheless, the lure had engendered some of the most gruesome conflicts among rival vampire clans.

For hunters, the stronger the Nephilic blood, the stronger a hunter was. But worship of power and a life of lethal danger and violence formed a particularly hazardous mix. If human soldiers were capable of inhuman atrocities during wars – or even during peacetime behind closed barrack doors – what was to stop the hunters from committing the same? Yes, the hunter orders demanded absolute obedience from top to bottom as a rule, and yes, much harsher punishments were prescribed for any infraction of the rules. But with so few hunters born in every generation and their mortality rate so high, actual enforcement of the codes was quite another matter. Shiraishi himself had bitterly complained that the punishment hardly matched the crime because such things happened on a larger scale and for so long, some of the upper echelons of the hunter orders did not see it as a serious problem at all. Some even accepted it as a necessary evil. After all, they argued, what were a few thousand cases of violence, rape and murder compared to the millions of human lives kept safe?

“It’s funny. Akutsu Jin lost his family because of hunters, I lost mine because of vampires. Akutsu and I would have a lot to talk about. Right before he lopped my head off.” Chitose kept his tone blithe, but knew it wouldn't fool Shiraishi.

Miyuki. His beloved baby sister. The one person he'd loved more than the waking world. The only person who chose to follow him into the eternal night to which he was bound. Back then Chitose was part of the Shishigaku clan, known together with Tachibana Kippei as the Two Wings of Kyuushuu. As fourth-generation vampires, he and Tachibana held claim to purest blood in Shishigaku along with Taimaru Taikichi, the head of the clan. But Taimaru was older, and therefore stronger, and supported by the oldest clan members.

Eventually, Tachibana had a huge argument with some of the senior clan members over his sister An and left to form his own clan, a tiny but tight-knit group of powerful vampires. Chitose siblings had elected to stay. Chitose even had an argument with Tachibana about that. And then, not long after, Miyuki had suddenly disappeared. When she was found, the husk of her body perfectly preserved deep in the basement of an abandoned building—

Chitose didn't remember the details of the days surrounding her death. Just snatches of vivid memories. Like finding her bloodless corpse. The marks on her neck. Feeling the gut-deep agony of knowledge how terrible a death it was, to be bled to death by another vampire. The madness of grief. And rage.

He knew it must have been Taimaru. And Taimaru hadn't bothered to deny it. But there had been no proof, nothing to bring the smirking bastard to a trial before the clan, no way to make him pay. Except one. So he'd done it. Destroyed Taimaru, and anyone else who got in between. He hadn't meant to make it into a clan-wide warfare, but it had become exactly that, with different clan members taking sides, some even dying for Chitose. But he'd had no time to feel gratitude or remorse. No room for anything but the consuming desire – no. The _need_ for revenge. That he had to kill Taimaru before he could join his sister. His little Miyuki, whom he'd taken care of since she was a baby.

He'd barely crawled away from the final battle that left the entire clan destroyed, gravely wounded and waiting to die. Welcoming death. And had met Shiraishi.

And now, he was presumed dead, and a secret ally to the field commander of a hunter order.

“Then it’d be best to keep you away from him.” Shiraishi’s tone was neutral, with a hint of warning underneath, but it wasn’t unkind. Chitose quirked a brow at him, but his mouth twisted in an unhappy frown before the sarcastic amusement returned to his expression.

“Of course. Miles to go before I sleep.”

A reminder, to himself as well as Shiraishi, that his well being was Shiraishi’s concern only for as long as he remained a useful ally for Shitenhouji. Shiraishi might have found Chitose that bloody night and chose to spare his life. But Shiraishi Kuranosuke was the captain and the field commander of Shitenhouji. The main reason Shiraishi chose to keep Chitose alive was a vital need for a vampire ally, not personal sympathy. The decision was too important, too damned _dangerous_ to risk it otherwise. Even now, they were bound by an alliance of mutual need, and any tenuous trust or friendship built between them over the years could never take precedence over that.

Shiraishi stilled, but did not change his expression. “You should rest,” he said finally.

"Yeah," Chitose agreed blandly. He felt tired and cold, and too weary to keep the screaming pain at bay. "It's close to dawn."

Shiraishi would know what Chitose meant by the reminder. Not enough time to return to his hidden lair, to safety. Not enough time to seek a willing provider. And leaving behind such an obvious trail of blood-scent wasn't an option if he had possible pursuers.

Without another word Shiraishi rolled up his right sleeve, exposing pale skin underneath. "Go ahead."

Chitose's eyes were drawn to the warm pulse and the faint blue of the blood vessels like needle to a magnet. With effort he flicked them upward to meet Shiraishi's gaze. Shiraishi nodded, unsmiling, and Chitose drew closer, lightly grasping Shiraishi's forearm and lifting it to his lips. Though Shiraishi suppressed it, Chitose could feel a shudder at the ice-cold touch.

He knew his lips were equally cold – it had been eight days since he fed, hence his injury failing to disappear. With a surgeon's precision if not the detachment, Chitose slid his fangs into the vein, then closed his lips around the twin puncture wounds.

Shiraishi had excellent control over his body. But Chitose still felt the slight jump of the muscles as Shiraishi fought his instinctive impulse to snatch his arm away, to react defensively to a perceived attack. By tacit agreement he never took blood from the neck, or failed to ask permission. But even after centuries Chitose remembered how it felt to have a vampire drink from him. The discomfort wasn't much; well-tended vampire fangs were sharper than a surgical scalpel and the slice into the skin was hardly noticeable on its own. The legends of vampires stealing into bedchambers at night and biting sleeping victim who never awoke weren't too far from the truth.

But the sensation from the suckling was quite another thing. The strange, almost tickling sensation under his skin, and the subtle tug on his veins. How the pull increased, more insistent through the very core of his body, as if he was being sucked right out of his skin. He could almost hear Shiraishi's teeth clench, and breathed out carefully before suckling, keeping the pressure gentle. Shiraishi went stiff before he deliberately relaxed, but Chitose knew the tension wasn't from pain. Through the pulse at the wrist he could see how Shiraishi's heart was quickening, but even if he couldn't, he couldn't have missed the thrumming of blood rushing with each beat. Or the flush of heat spreading through Shiraishi's body that had very little to do with fear. And wasn't that the problem?

It was different for everyone, he'd found out over the years. But for some, the reaction to a vampire's kiss, as the process was oh-so-delicately called, was intense arousal. The pull somehow tugging at the pit of one's stomach, the faint ache deep in the belly like the sweetness of longing. Shiraishi's breathing was turning uneven despite efforts to control it, and Chitose felt desire – for blood, for life, for pleasure – swell and burst like a balloon, wiping out every thought in his mind.

For an indeterminate moment there was nothing but whiteness in his head, instinct fully in control. When he came to, it was with some reluctance, like emerging from a warm bath, having to thrust his drowsy mind and body back into cold reality of here and now. The moment couldn't have lasted more than a brief instant, perhaps a minute at most, but felt like an eternity. Consciously Chitose eased his grip on Shiraishi's wrist, his reason once again firmly reining him in. A vampire's hunger was a ravenous thing. No matter how much self-control a vampire possessed, there came a moment during the feeding when all sanity evaporated, all thoughts taken over by the pleasure and the need. As a vampire grew older and his control improved the grip of the moment became shorter and shorter. But young, newly turned vampires were particularly susceptible, could easily let it override all thoughts and unwittingly kill the human victims or providers. And hunters, knowing in that moment the vampire would be insensible to all else, took advantage whenever they could.

Which Shiraishi could have. But he hadn't moved, swallowing dryly, ruthlessly wrestling his own arousal to calm. Chitose let his grip slacken further, but couldn't help the unwillingness to pull away from the warm skin, his lips contracting over the wound then easing the pressure with a lingering glide. Before he could think better his tongue darted out to lick at the bite, and Chitose heard the suppressed gasp Shiraishi let out. Of course. Shiraishi had always been so wonderfully sensitive. Even the borrowed warmth of Chitose's lips on his skin must feel maddening. And there was the _scent_ , seven hells. The heady scent of Shiraishi’s arousal. Chitose had to breathe very carefully not to inhale too deeply.

“Sorry,” Chitose murmured when he felt surer of his own control, and had to pause again when he felt Shiraishi shiver despite himself. “It affects everyone differently, you know that.” 

_I can’t help how you react to being bitten_ , he left unspoken, but knew Shiraishi understood. Years ago, he mused wryly, Shiraishi would have flushed. The first few times Chitose drank from him, out of vital necessity just like today, Shiraishi had been mortified by his own physical reaction.

“I know,” Shiraishi said, and swallowed. “Better than fear. I don’t think that would mix well with...this.”

“No,” Chitose agreed serenely, but his eyes were serious. Already his wounds were beginning to heal, pain dulling to a distant ache. A good part of that had to do with the fact Shiraishi was a powerful hunter. Fear or feeling of mortal threat would trigger Shiraishi’s instinct to fight. And, Chitose admitted privately, a fight between the two of them – a fourth-generation vampire and one of the strongest hunters in existence – would not end well. Not to mention, Shiraishi’s plight would quickly draw enthusiastic helpers to his side, while no one who knew Chitose was even aware he was still alive. Even if Chitose emerged as the victor, his victory would be short-lived, possibly quite literally.

It was also the reason he never made light of Shiraishi’s reaction to being bitten. Or take advantage, although it was a painful temptation sometimes. Feeding triggered the more primal parts of a vampire’s instinct. And even with the most rigid control in place, there was always a fine line of not being able to stop. Or at least, not being able to refrain from seeking some kind of resolution, pursue _any_ outlet for the tension, the instinct for a kill transmuted to a more primal, sexual need. And Shiraishi was so sensitive, so very responsive to every caress. So easy to imagine the line of Shiraishi’s body tense and then relax, spilling loose-limbed on a bed...

With effort, Chitose wrenched his attention back to the more important problem at hand. “About Echizen,” he began. “I mentioned before that he felt a bit different, yes?”

“You did.” Shiraishi’s face was still a bit flushed, lending him an attractive glow, but Chitose was old enough to keep his attention from wandering despite the distraction. Mostly.

“I don’t know if Nanjirou himself knew. Or Echizen’s mother, for that matter. But I don’t think it’s unrelated.”

“You think someone silenced them deliberately.” Hazel eyes were sharp and cool as cut gemstones. “Why?”

Chitose shrugged uncomfortably. “That’s probably related to the ‘who’ part as well. Trouble is, I don’t know. I barely got out as it was. Didn’t even get a good look at them. They even had a couple of lookouts lying in wait, and _those_ were no joke, either. But they can’t be vampires. At least not all of them. Else they wouldn’t have risked sunrise being so close. And fire.”

“How many?” Shiraishi was in what Chitose privately termed the Captain Mode. No nonsense and all business.

“No more than half a dozen, if that. Two more on the perimeter watch.”

“And they managed to overpower a third-gen vampire? Samurai Nanjirou at that?” Shiraishi was frowning, eyes more fierce than troubled. “Then you’re lucky to have escaped.”

“Don’t I know it?” Chitose groused, rubbing a hand over his eyes tiredly. A third-generation vampire was powerful. Exponentially more so than a fourth-generation, if stories about the Samurai Nanjirou were to be believed. And Nanjirou had been in the company of his consort, Echizen Rinko, at the time of the attack. There were few things that provoked a vampire’s innate ferocity worse than an attack on his lair or his mate. “If they’re targeting the kid, I don’t know if Seigaku would have the firepower to keep them out. So...”

“I’ll send word,” Shiraishi promised. “Get some rest,” Shiraishi added quietly, and turned to leave. He never looked back even as Chitose's chuckles followed him up the staircase. After the door closed behind him, only a vampire's preternatural hearing allowed Chitose to pick up the sound of a body wearily coming to rest on the wooden surface.

It was a while later when Shiraishi's nearly silent footsteps moved away from the door.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so about that hiatus thing. It IS still on. XD Just...after a couple more things. 4/14 was Shiraishi’s birthday, and one-year anniversary of starting the posting run of _**Bloodstone**_ \-- in fact I started 4/14/2014 because 1) 4-14-14 was an awesome date and 2) I wrote _**Bloodstone**_ largely for Shiraishi. Yuuta and Akaya, too, but Shiraishi was a really big part of the reason. So happy belated birthday to Shiraishi!
> 
> After this and one more _**Sea of Hidden Dragon**_ update I really WILL be on hiatus while I fix up _**Et Cetera**_. Thanks y’all for reading!! ♥

[For 4/14/2015]

**_Chapter 7_ **

“Are you certain?”

A weary but firm nod answered him. “Two separate sources have confirmed. There is no room for doubt.”

“Shit,” Yuuta swore. Mizuki did not even blink, looking so serious that his own teammates would hardly have recognized him. There was no trace of the usual smugness or calculating gleam in Mizuki’s eyes.

“Yuuta-kun,” Mizuki began, then hesitated. “I do not wish to pry. I never have. But this changes everything.”

“But – Chitose. Shishigaku,” Yuuta protested. “Something like this has happened before.”

Mizuki shook his head. “Chitose Senri was a fourth-generation, as was Taimaru Taikichi. Conflicts and even killing among the fourth-generation vampires have been documented. But a third-generation, Yuuta-kun? And Samurai Nanjirou at that?”

Yuuta pursed his lips, turning away with a frown. But he was troubled, not angry, and after a moment, he spoke again. “You really think the details I can give you would help?”

“It’s the only clue we have, right now.” Mizuki’s voice turned gentle, but did not move to touch Yuuta. “Yuuta-kun. Power is decided almost entirely by the purity of blood, not only for vampires but for hunters as well. As far as we know, there is nothing in this world – vampire, hunter, or otherwise – that can so easily dispose of a third-generation vampire. You’ve told me even you couldn’t have done it, not with Nanjirou being so much older than you are. And you are the only second-generation we have left. I must find out if there are some special circumstances involved here. The alternative...” He trailed off with a sigh. “You know the alternative is too frightening to even examine.”

Something far more powerful than a third-generation vampire walking on earth. Yuuta couldn’t help a shiver. Although Yuuta was himself a second-generation vampire, he was centuries away from the full maturation of his powers, far too young to take on the Samurai Nanjirou successfully. And even among the third-generation vampires, Nanjirou had always been special. In fact most believed the Samurai Nanjirou to be one of the most powerful vampires that ever existed in history. Just what could have destroyed Nanjirou and disappear without leaving a trace?

Yuuta’s jaws tightened as his thoughts turned to _that night_ , the night his family died. Until now, no one had dared to ask him for details of that night. Now, Mizuki was asking him to relive the worst nightmare of his life.

“...All right,” Yuuta finally conceded. “I don’t know if it will help you. But I will tell you what I can.”

Mizuki gave him a gentle smile. “I appreciate your trust, Yuuta-kun.”

“There isn’t...I didn’t actually see _how_ it happened,” Yuuta began reluctantly. Mizuki must know that much from the official reports. After his family died, the resulting tumult forced Seigaku to form a joint investigation team with Hyoutei and Nagoya’s Seitoku. And the investigation team had published a series of reports on the incident, made available to every clan and even some hunter orders. “When I’d come home that night, I...” Yuuta closed his eyes, his throat tight. “The entire building had been blown away. There was nothing left, just some pieces of walls and support pillars. ’Nee-san was on the floor, near the entrance. She was on her back, one hand stretched – stretched toward ’Kaa-san and ’Tou-san. There was blood. Everywhere.” Yuuta’s eyes opened, but they were unseeing, lost in the memories. “’Tou-san had his arm around ’Kaa-san. Both of them on their sides, facing each other. They...”

Slowly, Mizuki scooted closer to him and reached for his hand. Yuuta’s hand gave a twitch in the gentle hold, but remained slack while his throat worked in vain to continue. Mizuki squeezed his hand, but did not press.

“...They...didn’t look like they were in pain,” Yuuta finally managed, voice scraped raw, like shards of glass rubbing against each other. “’Kaa-san had this...little smile on her lips, y’know? Like – like she was just sleeping. I had to touch her. Touch her arm. To make sure. She was icy. All of them were.”

Mizuki did not speak while Yuuta lapsed into a long silence. “What happened after?” Mizuki finally asked, voice quiet and very soft. Yuuta’s hand stirred briefly, then went lax again.

“I sat there. I don’t know for how long. Tezuka-san found me and tried to drag me away. The sun was rising and – I could already see the first light breaking. I could see – everything – and I—I lost it. Started screaming and thrashing. Someone knocked me out, I think. I don’t know who. I woke up the next night in a Seigaku safehouse.”

“Did you see anything unusual at the scene?”

Yuuta took a shaky breath. “No. When I found them, it was already so close to sunrise, y’know? I don’t think anyone had the time to do anything. And by the next night, all the—” Yuuta stopped abruptly, and swallowed against the sharp pain lodged in his throat. “—By then they were all gone. Taken by the sun.”

Vampire blood, like the vampire flesh, also perished in the sun, evaporated to nothingness just as the flesh turned to ashes. Perhaps if something had been preserved, they might have found more clues using the technology that twenty-first century placed at their disposal. Perhaps, if they had managed to retrieve the...bodies, he’d have more than just nightmares to remember his family by.

Mizuki’s voice, soft but inexorable, pulled him back to the present. “No tools, no runes, no spell-work or symbols?”

Yuuta shook his head mutely.

“Nothing out of ordinary? Nothing that you can remember?” Mizuki pressed, a tiny crease between his brows.

Yuuta shook his head again. “I think Inui-san wrote up a pretty detailed description of the scene. And someone added a few sketches for the reports. They were pretty damned thorough, the way I hear it. But as soon as they finished the investigation, Seigaku decided to demolish the remains of the mansion and rebuild it on the same spot.” Yuuta’s tone was bitter and edged. It was one of the things, albeit small, that factored into Yuuta’s eventual decision to renounce his ties with Seigaku. “I’m sure – I think Tezuka-san would have tried to fight that, but it wasn’t his decision. Not then.”

At that time, Seigaku had been responsible for the safety of his family, and even after the thorough investigation failed to turn up single piece of evidence implicating Seigaku, it had been a precarious time for the clan. And Tezuka had just taken over as the new head. Although Tezuka, being a fourth-generation vampire, outranked the previous head who was a fifth-generation, Yamato Yuudai was older than Tezuka by three full centuries, and had been the head of Seigaku for over two hundred years by then. Besides which, Yamato was well-respected by all of Seigaku including Tezuka. Moreover, Tezuka had to bow to the guidance from the clan’s senior advisor, Ryuuzaki Sumire. It wasn’t difficult to see why Yamato and Ryuuzaki had decided to rebuild on the very site. While some clans like Higa had objected, believing the site should be kept preserved as a gesture of mourning, that Seigaku chose to keep it as their headquarters ever since spoke volumes on the clan’s political stance. In particular, during the bloody conflict that followed, Seigaku’s staunch adherence to Fuji Yoshiko’s peace treaty, though unpopular at the time, was eventually perceived as a touching tribute to the Last Heir. Although it took decades to recover from the incident, Seigaku had survived _and_ retained leadership among the clans in Japan. Politically, it had been an astute move.

Not that any of it made anything better. Or brought them any closer to the truth of what happened, not with his mother, or Samurai Nanjirou. Yuuta let out a long breath, letting go of the frustration and the bitterness enough to breathe again.

“It might be helpful if we could track down Samurai Nanjirou’s heir,” Mizuki said softly, almost to himself. “Echizen Ryoma, was it?”

“What for?”

Yuuta’s question, blunt and to the point, made Mizuki smile. “He may know something we don’t.”

Yuuta considered this, and shook his head. “Assuming we can get past Seigaku to actually get ahold of the brat. Which I doubt, especially now. Why would he want to talk to us? We’re a hunter order. Plus, I heard Nanjirou was killed in what, England? How would Echizen know anything when by all accounts he was right here in Japan when it happened?”

“But he was with Samurai Nanjirou and his consort just before they left for Europe. Perhaps they let something slip. He is, after all, the consort’s biological son.”

Yuuta was skeptical, but shrugged. “Okay, if you think it’d help. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Yuuta paused, then amended himself. “More like impossible. I don’t see how we could pull it off.”

But Yuuta would try, if Mizuki asked. Like how he’d confided the details of that night. No one else had dared to ask him any questions besides the obvious, and it wasn’t like he’d witnessed anything that could be of help to find who’d murdered his family. But they were details that he couldn’t bring himself to share with anyone else before. Because Mizuki was different. Special. And even the horror of that night seemed bearable when Mizuki looked at him with dark eyes soft with sympathy.

Unconsciously Yuuta took in a quick breath, forcing his mind to look past the horror, to think more clinically. With the bodies...intact, the likeliest cause of their deaths was exsanguination. The investigators had concluded as much. The copious amount of blood found on the scene pointed to a non-vampire attacker – a vampire could never have resisted the chance to drain a first-generation vampire – but there was simply no evidence linking the incident to any hunter order. Either way, nothing short of an epic battle could have brought down a first-generation vampire. How could such a ruckus have gone unnoticed? No one had an inkling that anything was wrong until Yuuta returned home near dawn to find the scene of carnage.

His older brother Syuusuke hadn’t been found at the scene, and hadn’t been seen since that night. Over the last century enough people had come up with theories behind his brother’s disappearance. And God only knew how many imposters turned up claiming to be the lost prince. Even if hope, treacherous and unreasoning it was, kept him searching for years and years after the investigation team closed the case, Yuuta no longer allowed himself to entertain any notion that Syuusuke might still be alive. Syuusuke was supposed to have been home that night. Whoever managed to murder their mother couldn’t have failed to dispatch her much younger, less powerful offspring at the same time.

Yuuta took a deep breath, and let the icy chill of his memories fall away. “Mizuki-san.”

Mizuki blinked, like he was emerging from deep thought. “What is it, Yuuta-kun?”

“Did you sources mention how – did they see anything?”

“About Samurai Nanjirou and his consort? No. There was simply no trace of them left. They entered their hotel room in Stornoway – this much is beyond question – and they never left. The entire hotel room burned down, but _only_ that room. Nothing else was damaged.”

“And your sources – you trust them?”

“Trust, no. But they are reliable.”

Yuuta frowned. “What do you mean?”

“This was intel deliberately leaked to Seigaku. I don’t know for what purpose,” Mizuki said, each word pronounced softly but carefully.

Leaked, Mizuki had said. Yuuta’s frown deepened. “A hunter order had this intel? Which one?”

“That, I was unable to ascertain. All I know is that I wouldn’t have found out if I hadn’t been watching Seigaku for so long. But I could hardly be the only one watching the Seigaku clan, so by now others must know as well.”

“Which would make it even harder to figure out who leaked it in the first place,” Yuuta finished. “But why would a hunter order give this intel to Seigaku?”

“Depends on which order,” Mizuki said with a sigh. “If it’s Rikkai? To entrap the boy, no doubt.”

“...Does Echizen know? About his... About them.”

His parents. Yuuta couldn’t bring himself to say it. It hit too close to home. Mizuki reached out and laid a hand on his wrist, feeding warmth to the cool skin there. “You are so gentle, Yuuta-kun,” Mizuki said, fingers wrapping around Yuuta’s wrist and squeezing gently. “By now, most likely. Besides, they were his mother and sire. He should know, don’t you think?”

Yuuta frowned, but did not dispute him. “I guess.” A small pause, then he continued. “Which other order could have leaked it anyway? If not Rikkai?”

“Hmm. I really don’t think it’s Rikkai, personally. It’s not their style. Besides, they haven’t made any movement recently, at least not in Japan. That leaves Shitenhouji as the top suspect. They certainly have the means. Rokkaku as well, since I understand they’ve crossed paths with Seigaku on friendly terms before. Possibly Yamabuki, but I consider Shitenhouji and Rokkaku more likely. The rest of the orders in Japan do not possess the kind of network necessary to obtain such information, or leak it without being traced.”

“Yeah, but Rikkai must know by now too.” Yuuta sighed, and turned his hand so their hands were pressed together palm to palm. “Can’t imagine they’d be happy to hear this, given – y’know.”

The possibility of an unknown third element with unclear agenda. Untraceable. And powerful enough to take out a third-generation vampire and his consort. All this would be enough to make Rikkai jumpy. Mizuki nodded. “They’ll be seeking to reaffirm alliances. If they haven’t started already.”

The Order of St. Rudolph wasn’t quite as old as the other four major hunter orders in Japan. However, well-funded and efficiently organized, St. Rudolph had become a power player in less than a century after its establishment. 

A big part of that was their highly streamlined reconnaissance and analysis team headed by Mizuki. Mizuki’s capacity as a CIC (combat information control) was well-known to other orders and even to vampire clans. Even though Rikkai still snubbed them as a newcomer without proper history or sufficient firepower on the field, St. Rudolph could nevertheless boast being one of Japan’s five greatest hunter orders.

Their hands were still joined, but Mizuki showed no sign of letting go, so Yuuta did not pull away, content with the warmth the contact provided. Mizuki gave his hand a gentle tug, turning Yuuta’s attention back to him. “Yuuta-kun. ‘Fuji’ was your father’s surname, wasn’t it?”

“Hm?” Yuuta blinked, startled by the question. “Yeah. ‘Kaa-san took it as her own after she and ‘Tou-san married. Actually her given name was from ‘Tou-san too, she said.” He frowned minutely. “I don’t think she or ‘Tou-san ever mentioned what her original name was. Hell, I didn’t have a last name until ‘Kaa-san and ‘Tou-san took us in.”

“Echizen Rinko and Ryoma,” Mizuki repeated, looking as if something just clicked in his mind. “Oldest vampires often don’t have a surname. And any name they hold can change over the years. Samurai Nanjirou was no exception.” Every vampire and hunter knew the story of how Nanjirou got his famous nickname back in 1700s. But his history before that time was largely unknown.

“So...Echizen is the consort’s maiden name?”

“So I assumed.” Mizuki stood, seemingly having forgotten their hands were still linked. Yuuta followed him easily, if still puzzled. “I may have been wrong to assume Echizen is the consort’s surname. I’ll have to look that up.”

“I’ll come with you,” Yuuta offered immediately. Mizuki looked like he wanted to decline; often, when he was in the middle of a research, Mizuki forgot everything else around him. But Yuuta could feel the memories still haunting the edges of his mind, and didn’t want to be alone just now. As if hearing Yuuta’s thoughts, Mizuki’s eyes softened and he nodded, lips curving in a warm smile.

“As always, Yuuta-kun, I appreciate your help.”

~*~*~*~

Tezuka knew he was dreaming.

In his dream, he saw again the ruined remnants of the mansion. The building, once the beautiful home of the Fuji family, was nothing but bits of rubble from ground up. Chill of the falling rain. The rain had started a day after that night, and hadn’t stopped for a whole week. If there had been anything that the sun left behind, the rain had washed it all away. Dark. So very dark. Someone had left candles behind, burning in silent mourning, but the rain had quenched the flames. Scent of flowers. Soft petals lay scattered on the ground, flowers ruined by the ceaselessly falling raindrops.

Everything had happened so close to dawn that night. And the morning sun had destroyed everything. All but the youngest Fuji, the one he’d pulled away from the wreckage minutes before the sun’s deadly rays touched them. If only he’d been there earlier, if he hadn’t been sent away...

He’d been on an errand from Lady Yoshiko herself. By the time he returned, he was barely in time to save the youngest Fuji childe before the sun claimed him also. That he was able to do that much was a comfort, however painful, throughout the long day he spent utterly sleepless.

Then, the next evening, he’d received a letter. Written in a hand too familiar to ever suspect forgery. The last letter written by Lady Yoshiko, delivered to him the day after her death at her own instruction. His hands were shaking as he opened the sealed envelope, heartsick with a premonition whatever it contained would destroy what was left of his soul.

_I’m sorry to leave you with such a painful burden_ , Lady Yoshiko wrote. _But you are the only one I can trust with this secret. And – I daresay – the only one who has enough reasons to keep it._

The letter had taken him back to the ruins of the mansion, the hidden chamber buried deep underneath the very spot the Fuji family lived and died, where a terrible secret waited for him.

With his dreaming eyes he saw again the entrance to the underground chamber. He knew what lay inside, shrouded in darkness deeper than hell. A bottomless despair, an endless obsession, an impossible mission. Yet he knew he would continue to dream until he entered, until he saw—

The true price Fuji Yoshiko and her family paid, and _why_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, one more chapter for **_Sea of Hidden Dragon_** , then hiatus for real. XD


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